


Sail Close to the Wind

by renwhit



Series: Come What May [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (NEVER in ANY WAY sexual or otherwise about a relationship), ADHD Danny Stoker, ADHD Tim Stoker, Also g-d those relationship tags must look bonkers out of context, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic/ADHD Jon Sims, Bullying, But we stay in T rating for a while until then, Cane user Jon, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death (Past), Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Dark!Callum, End!Tim, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Ghost!Tim, Grooming, Hard of Hearing Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Georgie, Jewish/Indian Jon, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has EDS | Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Mystery, Non-Canonical Character Undeath, Oh how I missed that tag, Paranoia (briefly), Rating is for eventual canon-typical themes, Recovery, Season 4AU, Slaughter!Melanie (temporarily), Stranger!Danny, The archive staff actually communicating. Imagine, Trans Female Character, Unreliable Narrator, World's biggest S4 AU:, internalized ableism, obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 94,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renwhit/pseuds/renwhit
Summary: If Callum could make only one thing clear from the start, it was this: he wasn’t scared.Taking the second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning just led to cold, empty, endless black. Only babies believed otherwise.Callum still spared a wish or two, some nights.
Relationships: Background Melanie King/Georgie Barker, Background Ship Teasing - Relationship, Basira Hussain & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Callum Brodie & Basira Hussain, Callum Brodie & Danny Stoker, Callum Brodie & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Callum Brodie & Melanie King, Callum Brodie & Tim Stoker, Danny Stoker & Tim Stoker, Georgie Barker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Danny Stoker, Melanie King & Danny Stoker, The same sprinkling of JonMarTim we see in HLM
Series: Come What May [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818277
Comments: 687
Kudos: 344
Collections: GerryTitan verse





	1. Pyxis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _[French]_ A small and faint constellation in the southern sky representing a mariner’s compass.
> 
> ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
> 
>   
> welcome to come what may pt ii, everybody! if you haven’t read head in the lion’s mouth none of this will make any gddamn sense, so be sure to read that one if you haven’t already!
> 
> a couple things:
> 
> 1\. because our pov character is an Actual Kid, things won’t be quite as dark as hlm, or at least not in the same way. however, this is still a tma fic and our characters still go through the wringer. we'll get into some heavy topics which is why it's still rated mature even though we're gonna be in T rating territory for a bit. like hlm, every chapter will have specific content warnings in the end note
> 
> 2\. also like hlm, **this fic is about healing and recovery.** things will be fraught and will get worse before they get better, but i don’t write people staying stuck in their abuse. there is hurt, but there is also healing!
> 
> that said, i hope you all enjoy the journey!
> 
> suggested listening: dead of night by ruelle
> 
> the hugest thanks as always for beta help from ron [@gerrydelano](https://gerrydelano.tumblr.com/), without whom this story couldn't exist!

If Callum could make only one thing clear from the start, it was this: he wasn’t scared.

Tristan didn’t believe him. Said he could tell Callum was scared of all the rubble and whatever might be inside. He was wrong, of course. Part of Callum wanted to hit Tristan for even saying it. The rest wanted to show him how wrong he was. 

The ages since the place exploded may as well not have happened — Madame Tussauds looked just as messed up as it did four months ago. It wasn’t the exact same, not with how much they had to move around to get all the dead folks out. Tristan said there were some two hundred people killed, and that the news was hiding it from everyone. His dad was one of the people called in, he said, so he knew even if they were keeping it a secret. 

Callum asked why they’d call a _vet_ in when a wax museum exploded. Tristan said there were probably dogs or something inside. The scrap after Callum called him a liar earned him a plaster on his forehead, a hell of a talking-to from his stepfather, and something to prove. 

No way there were still any bodies, right? Just wax ones. Callum would go in and find some wax hand or head or whatever, then take it and tell Tristan it was from one of the dead people. Make _him_ the scared one. 

The _only_ scared one. Callum wasn’t scared.

He should have brought a second torch.

He wasn’t supposed to be out this late. The remnants of the place weren’t exactly close to home, either. It didn’t matter. His mother was asleep, his stepfather was at work. Night shift.

It was just Callum, the bombed-out shell of a museum, and a whole lot of shadows.

He went inside, picking his way around wreckage. Not really an _inside_ somewhere this destroyed, but close enough. The bits of wall left standing gave some shield from the wind. 

G-d, Callum hated winter. It made staying out of the house a pain. He always ended up losing his gloves and getting gross city slush in the holes in his trainers. It was only December. Months of cold to go. 

As strange as Madame Tussauds and all the stuff inside was, it blocked the worst of the cold. Better than nothing. 

Still. He hated this place, too.

The torch in his hand was a small, cheap thing. He had a better one in his room, one that he’d rather keep _there._ If something happened and it broke, better for it to be the crap one. Its flickering made everything look all spooky, but it was just a building. Nothing here but creepy wax figures and bricks. 

A circle of light traced along the ground as he tread through, tugging the zipper of his coat as high as possible. His hands felt cracked by icy wind. Must be bright red by now. Whatever. He’d live. 

None of it could ever be as cold as that dark, dark water anyway. None of the shadows here would ever be as black.

He wasn’t scared then, so of course he wouldn’t be scared now. After that, nothing could scare him, not shadows or cold or his stepfather or— 

“Still nothing?”

“No more than the last six times we were here.”

Or the fact that he was very, very much not alone. 

Breath went harsh in his throat before he managed to catch it. Callum flipped his torch off as he listened as hard as he could.

“I just want to be _sure.”_

A woman’s voice. Callum thought he might recognize it, maybe. Weird.

“I know, but I’m telling you — nothing feels off here.” A man, not one Callum recognized. “Or, nothing besides leftover energy. Without anything to sustain it and this close to the eye, it was never gonna last.”

Couple of tramps, maybe? No reason for Callum to get their attention by moving yet. Way too likely he’d stumble on something trying to trace his footsteps back out of this place. 

Their talk about eyes and energy sounded far too close to the kind of stuff the darkness people said, though. If either of them started chanting, he was _gone._

“G-d, it smells like death, though,” the man said after a bit. 

“They should’ve recovered all the bodies by now, but I can—”

“No, no. Not like corpses or blood or something. Like _death.”_ Another pause. Callum assumed the woman looked as confused as he felt, and the man went on. “Y’know how Georgie’s apartment smells a little like it, under everything else? Not strong or anything, but still with that death smell.”

“…No?” More question than statement. Must have just realized how much of a loon her friend was.

“Oh.” Torchlight swept across the rubble again, so Callum tucked himself even further behind the broken down wall. “Well, it’s like that.”

“Noted.”

A long silence, long enough that Callum wondered if they were snogging or something, when the guy said, “Could be him.”

No reply besides a hum. Callum didn’t think she was agreeing. 

Tension made way for boredom. Whoever these people were, they spent their free time standing around in broken-down buildings talking about stuff that didn’t make any sense. Not in an interesting way either — the same sort of dull nonsense that made Callum immediately tune out whenever his stepfather started going on about how great the Tories were or whatever else. 

With slow steps, Callum backed up, then turned to go. He didn’t find any of the wax figures, so no proof to give Tristan, but he’d rather get out of here than hunt through more. The cold and time of night meant it wasn’t worth hanging around waiting for the others to leave first.

Three steps later, something shifted in the rubble. A ragged lump of fur that Callum hadn’t even realized was an animal sprang to its feet when he got too close and burst off into the gloom. Callum stumbled back, hand flying to his mouth to muffle his shout of surprise. Adrenaline kicked his heartbeat back up to racing. 

_“Jesus—!”_

“The hell was that?!”

“No idea.” The man’s voice was a little breathless. Whatever that thing was, it must have been a hell of a shock when it ran through. “A— a cat?”

“That did _not_ look like a cat.”

“What, you think something squatting here would follow the rules you expect?”

“So you think the stranger is present enough to change stuff, still.”

What stranger? Was there someone else hiding in here too? Callum’s itch to leave doubled, but if whatever that thing was put the two on edge, they might hear him. 

He’d hide in the dark a bit longer, then. Least he knew they couldn’t see him. 

“With enough time. There’s not enough power behind it to do anything major.” The man sighed. “The troupe’s dead, Basira. Guaranteed. Whatever that was, it’s probably just been living here for a while.” 

The troupe? Were they some of the people who got caught up in the blast?

Callum wondered if he should have brushed Tristan’s death toll off so fast. According to this guy, everyone from some group got taken out. Jeez.

“Dead or just _gone?”_

“Dead. I mean, not everyone there was part of the troupe — the dollmaker, the couriers, those sorts — so I’m not sure about them, but Nikola and the rest are dead.”

If Callum thought these two made no sense before, now they sounded like a couple of proper lunatics. This guy said he just _knew_ some group was dead? Flat out? _Lunatic._

“Fine. We should get back to the Institute.” 

“Mm.” Some shuffling steps, then, “What food do you think cat-adjacent things like?” 

“I swear to G-d—”

“Hey, I don’t live with all you guys. The Magnus Institute is not my home sweet home. Maybe that thing is what’ll really liven it up at my house.” 

The _what?_ Callum knew the place, kind of, but why would people _live_ there? It was just a building full of crackpots that always made his mother roll her eyes. Guess it was no wonder that these folks were from there, not when they were spouting this much garbage.

“Pretty sure it’d go for your fingers first.”

“Considering how messed my blood and all is, I doubt it’d settle with that for long. Assuming it could even get through all the scars.” 

Conversation went quiet as the pair of them made their way out at last. The silence they left behind felt heavy, and all the shadows seemed darker. 

It was just Callum’s now, though. All that dark and silence, and no one he had to share it with. No one else was hiding in here. 

The next day, he told Tristan he wasn’t scared of Madame Tussauds — he went inside. No bits of wax people to prove it. All he had was a story. 

Tristan called him a liar. Callum socked him in the nose. By the end of _this_ scrap, Callum had four more plasters and one less friend. 

Fine. He’d never liked Tristan very much, anyway. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“How can I help you, dear?”

Callum scowled at the woman at the desk. _Dear._ G-d.

When he didn’t say anything, her face went from annoyingly cheery to puzzled. “Does one of your parents work here?” 

He scoffed at that. “No.” 

“…Are you here to make a statement?”

Make a _statement?_ What, like some kind of report? He’d rather run outside and jump in the Thames. Instead of saying so, he shrugged with one shoulder. 

The receptionist's eyes moved past him to the door leading outside. When she went from the snowstorm beyond back to Callum’s thin coat and worn trainers, the _pity_ on her face made hot embarrassment fill his throat. He crushed it down with another scowl. 

At least she didn’t bring it up, only said, “Just let me know if you need anything,” before returning to her work.

Callum threw himself into one of the nearby chairs with his backpack in his lap. He could leave now. Not put up with her patronizing. 

It _was_ warm, though. He’d just stay until his hands didn’t feel so stiff. Maybe that’d be long enough to figure out why he came here at all.

He tugged at the zipper on his bag’s front pocket. No reason to it beyond something to fiddle with.

_Unzip._

No reason to rush out, either. He could warm up, then leave.

_Zip._

Why did he come to the _Magnus Institute,_ of all places? This was stupid. He should go.

_Unzip._

Maybe he could do some homework while he was here. Might as well. He had a couple hours before his mother would worry.

_Zip._

Unless today was one of those days she freaked out and acted like she had to keep him in sight at all times or he’d get snatched up again. At least she stopped trying to pull him out of class in the middle of the day.

_Unzip._

Those days didn’t happen as much anymore. He was probably clear.

_Zip._

Unless he wasn’t.

_Unzip._

“Do you want a sweet?”

Callum looked up from his bag to see receptionist lady holding out a round tin. If he was gonna be here, may as well.

“My name is Rosie, by the way.”

Muffled by the strawberry drop in his mouth, he replied, “Callum.”

She smiled. “Lovely to meet you.”

Shrug. Drop back into the chair. 

“Let me know if you need anything, Callum.”

“You already said that.”

Rosie didn’t pause in typing. “I just thought it’d sound better with a name.”

He didn’t know how to reply, so he didn’t bother trying. When the last of his sweet melted, he left for the cold without saying goodbye.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Afternoon, Callum.”

An orange sweet, today. Doing his homework in a lobby chair wasn’t comfortable, but he made it work. Not like his handwriting could get any worse. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“How’re you today, dear?”

He rolled his eyes at the coddling as he plucked a blackberry drop from the tin. “Fine.” 

“Glad to hear it.” 

As she tucked the tin back in a drawer, Callum noticed a matching one right beside it. The other looked older. The one she offered to him was new. 

Weird.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Hello, Callum!” 

“Hey.” Given without thought. Today he picked the apple flavor, feet shifting in his new shoes. 

Loose term, of course. Charity shops didn’t fill the shelves with new things. Still, these had no holes and weren’t broken in too terribly, so _new_ worked fine. 

“Staying warm, I hope?”

“Mm.” He already lost his gloves again, but Christmas meant a new _(actually_ new) coat along with the shoes. Warmer than he was before. 

Reading would be a lot easier than hunching over maths homework with nothing but a folder to support the page, but _g-d,_ Callum hated reading. Letters never stayed where they were supposed to. Words, neither. Far as the response questions his teacher assigned went, he’d just ask Tristan if he could copy—

He’d just… make something up. Wouldn’t be the first time. _Peter Pan_ was a movie too, right? Maybe it was close enough to fool his teacher. 

Two problems into his maths worksheet, a thud echoed from the floor above. 

“What’s that?”

Rosie barely spared a glance from her work. “Something we’re likely better off not being a part of, dear.”

Another problem, another crash. What sounded like shouting, too.

This place was meant to be about ghosts and monsters and stuff, right? Callum didn’t think any of that was real, but he also didn’t used to think warehouses could look like big churches. Maybe it was something cool.

Instead of asking Rosie what was going on again, he left his bag on his chair and went for the stairs. Rosie was focused on whatever work she had. That plus how good Callum was at staying fast and quiet meant sneaking off was kiddie stuff.

Paused at the landing. Listening.

Another crash, and screams. Did some kind of monster get loose? Zombies? A werewolf? He crept towards the double door to the left with his heart in his throat. Excited, not scared. Only a baby would be scared.

Before he could grab either handle, the doors burst open to show a bunch of people looking all sorts of freaked out. They barreled past with no mind to him.

“Evacuation procedure,” called a familiar voice from the back. Some woman. “Get to the courtyard!”

As the other people rushed ahead, the one shouting caught sight of him.

“Callum, what— What the hell are you _doing—_ Doesn’t matter. We need to go.”

Callum’s head jerked back in surprise. Dark-skinned lady, covered hair. He knew her. “You’re one of those coppers.” Scratch what he was doing here, what was _she_ doing?

Scratch that, too. Why the hell was she hanging around Madame Tussauds in the middle of the night a couple weeks ago?

“Come _on.”_ She grabbed him by the arm and tugged him along for about two seconds before he yanked out of her grip. He could walk on his own.

From the room cop lady was shepherding them away from, he heard another voice. 

“Lovely of you to join us, ladies and gentlemen, but I _am_ going to need you to put that desk down—”

Callum knew _that_ voice, too. 

He had to see whatever weird stuff was going on in there. Soon as cop lady shouted another order to the herd, he broke off and pelted back the way he came.

First thing he saw was a desk bursting into wood chips as it hit the wall. Callum dove behind another desk in an instant and hoped none of them noticed.

The blood rushing in his ears wasn’t enough to muffle the guy saying, “…Well, that’s on me for not specifying, I— _hey—”_

Callum peered out from his cover to see the guy duck under a massive fist and take a few quick steps back, interrupted by a spin to dodge another swipe from… whatever these things were. They looked kind of like people, but huge and ugly, all bulging muscles and too many limbs. 

Gross. 

A couple of the things started to head for another door. Through the glass pane wall, Callum could see into some kind of meeting room with regular folks huddled together against the back wall. Before they could do anything but scream, a snap so loud it made Callum’s head ring pierced through.

He locked back onto the first guy’s wide smile. “A bit rude to ignore your host, friends.”

One of the things near him made to punch him in the head, but he dodged without batting an eye. 

“You all realize how much you telegraph your hits, right? Come on.” He snapped a few more times, taunting. “Try something _interesting.”_

One of the people _(were_ they people?) scanned the rest of its own sort as they collected in the middle of the room. “Lookin’ like there’s six of us, one of you.” Its voice was so low and rumbly it was hard to make out. “Seems pretty interesting to me.”

The guy laughed, all short and sharp. “Prove it.” 

Callum watched, mouth hanging open, as the pack of gross muscley things closed in. 

It was only moments before the guy slipped free of the knot of movement in the middle. He moved like water around swinging fists, kicks, all sorts of swipes from way too many limbs. The sound they made as they moved was even more nasty than the way they looked — this awful meaty noise that made Callum’s stomach roll and nose scrunch. 

Still, even outnumbered as anything, the guy seemed bored. Callum almost expected him to yawn. 

At one point, he snatched what looked like a snowglobe off the closest desk. Something shifted in the corner of Callum’s eye, but no way was he gonna miss a second of this.

The guy threw the snowglobe up in the air as he ducked under a fist, then caught it again. One swing later, it shattered over the back of one thing’s head, and the thing doubled over with a growl. 

Callum pumped one fist in excitement. This was _awesome._

Even better was when the guy went still for just a beat between two of them, then dropped right before one landed a hit so it’d collide with its teammate. It took both hands slapped over his mouth for Callum to muffle his shout of laughter.

One thing got both hands on one of the guy’s arms — hands huge enough to wrap all the way around. The guy dropped low again and aimed a kick at its leg, but before he could follow through, another grabbed his other arm. Didn’t matter how much he pulled and twisted. They gripped tight enough Callum swore he could feel bruises digging into his own skin, and together held the guy out towards the one who spoke at the start.

Callum felt his heart speed up again as he ducked back down. He almost felt like he was watching a show for a bit, but no. No, these were real monsters, and this was a real man who was about to get killed. 

“Interesting enough for you now, pretty boy?”

A pause. “Is— Is that your worst? Pretty boy?” 

“What, you want me to call you—”

“Whatever it is, no. Jesus.” Callum heard a few more snaps, and peeked over the desk again to see. Maybe it was some kind of nervous tic of the guy’s or something. “Before you draw and quarter me or whatever it is you’re going for, mind if I ask a question?”

The hulking thing paused in cracking its knuckles. “Huh?”

“Do you know what the phrase _smoke and mirrors_ means?”

“What, like a magic show or somethin’?” Even with how weird its voice was, Callum could tell it was laughing. 

The guy grinned. “It means the _distraction.”_

As soon as he said that, the shape Callum saw shifting earlier darted forward. It leapt in the air and landed hard on one of the things’ backs, and a second later, drove a long, dark knife right into its shoulder. 

Screaming the whole while, of course. The woman looked _furious._

The two holding the other guy jolted, stunned enough that he was able to twist free. “Took you long enough!”

“Shut the hell up, _pretty boy,_ or I’m—” She jerked the knife free and leapt back. “—stabbing _you_ next!”

“Flesh creatures first, me later!”

The pair of them moved stupidly quick. As the guy tucked and rolled under one trying to grab him again, the woman sailed over him with that knife outstretched. Blood everywhere. _Awesome._

Callum’s mouth was hanging open again, he knew. Didn’t matter. He didn’t want to miss a _second,_ not while these two were going at it with a bunch of mountain-sized _flesh creatures._

As soon as he had that thought, one of the creatures grabbed the tall guy around the torso and threw him right at the desk Callum was hiding behind. He scrambled back under and prayed no one saw him as pens and pencils went sailing onto the floor — not the guy _or_ any of the monsters. 

Legs caged him — two normal looking ones that Callum assumed were the guy’s, and three gross fleshy _awful_ ones. Only two of the gross ones actually touched the ground. Callum had no idea what was happening above him, but based on the way what he _could_ see moved, the guy was pinned on his back trying to hold off the monster.

“Melanie!” Strained. “Would love to borrow that knife of y— _shit—”_

“Get your own!” Barked back before another scream and slashing noise. 

Callum scanned the space around him without any idea what he was looking for until he spotted it: a letter opener.

He had to move fast if he didn’t want to get kicked, or worse. One hand darted out from his shelter as he reached as far as he could.

Almost… _there._

Before he could second-guess it, Callum swung hard to stab the monster in one of its ankles, then shoved himself deeper under the desk until his back hit wood paneling. 

Hearing the monster howl in pain made a fierce sort of pride fill his chest, and he watched with plenty of satisfaction as it staggered back. _He_ did that. 

The guy on the desk wasted no time. Callum lost sight of him as he rolled to the side, and a beat later his voice came from further away. 

“C’mon, right over here! Unless one little cut is enough to keep you down.” 

Roaring, it followed after the taunt. Callum poked his head out again to watch. Soon as he did, he met eyes with the guy. 

Wink, finger to his lips. 

Right when the monster turned to see what the guy was looking at, the woman flew in with her knife still in hand and face still twisted. The guy caught Callum's eye again, this time with a quick motion of his hand downwards — a clear signal to stay in his cover. Callum didn’t think twice. 

It wasn’t long before the screaming and sounds of a fight faded down to the woman’s voice.

_“Why—”_

Stabbing noise.

_“—won’t—”_

Stabbing noise. 

_“—you—”_

Stabbing noise.

_“—die?!”_

Callum figured he was safe to look again. Just a peek. Real quick.

The only monster still standing was the three-legged one. The letter opener was still sticking out of its ankle, which, gross, but also kind of cool. It was covered in more cuts and slashes that Callum assumed was all from the woman clinging to his back. 

“Oh, _shit,”_ the guy hissed suddenly. “Basira forgot to lock one of the doors leading outside!” 

“She— what?” Breathless and ragged. “We’re on the f—” 

Before the woman could finish, the guy gestured to some door on the other side of the room, all bright yellow wood. 

“Wh— Oh. _Oh.”_ As she jumped away from the monster again, she said, “Oh no, this is, um— terrible!” 

The guy hit her with a look that almost made Callum laugh. Even if he’d let it out, the monster’s own laugh would’ve covered it, no problem. It barreled towards the yellow door without stopping once and burst through. 

Whatever was on the other side of the door hit like a slap, but like, on his brain. Callum cringed back. 

He didn’t have to cringe for long, not when moments later the door shut again. Next to it was a person — he… thought, anyway — with red glasses. Something about her moved weirdly, like she was just a bunch of drawings all layered on each other. 

Whatever was up with her body, it didn’t stop her from taking a bow. The guy clapped politely. 

“Kinda disappointed he fell for that,” the knife lady said. Callum hadn’t realized until now how short she was — just a handful of inches taller than him. 

“With your acting, it’s a miracle he _did,”_ the guy shot back. Knife lady flipped him off. 

Callum couldn’t keep it in his head anymore. He leapt to his feet. 

“That was _awesome!_ Like, how you just dodged around all those kicks and punches and stuff like—” He did his best to demonstrate, grinning. “And, and how _you_ just _flew_ in with a knife and just went _crazy_ on them, all—” Callum’s hands slashed through the air. “Like _that_ and— and _that_ and you were so _fast_ and then—!” His arms flew out wide to encompass the total disaster of the room.

Desks were all over the place. That and bits of monster. Knife lady had a ton of blood on her. Not so much on the guy, but he wasn’t spotless. He couldn't tell with door lady, not when looking at her too long gave Callum a headache. 

“And then— then the door, then… Dead. _Wow.”_ Self-consciousness turned his guts icy. “Or whatever.”

When something shifted behind him, Callum turned so fast he almost fell over. Was one of the monsters still alive?

But no, no flesh creature things. Just the copper again. 

She folded her arms as she took in the disaster all around them, then pinned him in place with dark eyes. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here, Callum?”

Before he could say anything, the guy behind him called, “Uh, stabbing Jared Hopworth with letter openers. Great kid.” Cop lady glowered at him for a split second, then looked back down. 

May as well be honest, right? He shrugged.

“Rosie gives me sweets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: canon-typical violence, briefly implied abuse/neglect
> 
> i said in the hlm ch17 end note that fuckin NOBODY would guess who our pov character would be and i am delighted that you all proved me so very right
> 
> on the horizon: rock the boat before they can throw you overboard
> 
> find me at [[@titanfalling](https://titanfalling.tumblr.com)] on tumblr!


	2. Therium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[Greek]_ A beast sacrificed by the centaur on an altar, represented by the Ara constellation. Later known as Lupus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gotta say, every tag on the tumblr promo or comment here that included or was simply something like "THE BOY" or "IT'S HIM" filled my heart with delight i love you all 
> 
> cws in the end note!
> 
> suggested listening: aliens exist by blink-182  
> (just prep yourself for edgy teen music for a good chunk of these i'm talkin some mcr some zebrahead. blast from the past)

“You know we’ve got desks in the archives, right?”

Callum looked up from his homework.

And up. And up.

“Rosie said you’re here a lot,” weird guy said. “So you might as well sit somewhere more comfortable.” 

Callum’s mouth scrunched to one side. “Are you gonna fight any more monsters?”

“I mean, I hope not.”

Ugh. Boring. Still, his back kinda hurt. And he was too hot in his coat, but every time the front door opened, a wave of cold air rushed in. If he took it off, he’d just go right back to freezing every time someone brought a new ghost story. 

“Fine, I guess.”

The guy laughed. “Don’t sound too disappointed.” As he waited for Callum to finish shoving everything into his backpack, he added, “My name’s Danny, by the way.”

“Callum.” Muffled by a sweet. Apple, today. 

“Good to meet you.” Another short laugh. _“Actually_ meet you, I mean.”

Rosie waved as they passed her desk, which Callum returned without thought. They went for a nearby door rather than the stairs up. Danny held it open, then followed behind. 

“Thanks for helping me out when you were here last time,” he said as he started down the hall. “That was smart thinking.”

Something funny happened in Callum’s chest, and he straightened up. “It was nothin’.” 

They started down another set of stairs. “You can be proud of yourself, kid.” Danny smiled at him again. “It was good.”

Callum just shrugged as he fought down his own mouth turning up. He stabbed a monster. No big deal.

The basement level sounded empty. Hot down here, so Callum tugged off his coat as best he could around his backpack.

Danny went to open another door, then paused. “Like I said, I don’t think anything else is gonna show up here anytime soon, but if it does — let me and the others handle it first, okay?”

Scowl. “You just said I did a good job.”

“Yeah, you did. But you know the smartest thing you did?”

“What?”

“Staying under that desk.”

Callum rolled his eyes. Right when he was starting to think Danny might be kind of cool. He startled when a hand came down on his head, but it did nothing more than ruffle his hair. 

“Yeah, I know, buzzkill grown-up over here.” Danny nudged his shoulder with the same hand. “But if you’re gonna hang around here, you probably shouldn’t be charging into the fray letter opener first.” 

“Whatever.” The sweet clicked loudly against his teeth as he shifted it in his mouth. 

Must have been agreement enough for Danny. After another second, he led the way inside. 

“Welcome to the archives,” he declared. The flourish of his hand would’ve made sense if they were somewhere interesting, but no. Just a bullpen. A handful of desks, some rolling carts with files stacked on them, and more on the shelves past those. Lots of boxes everywhere. 

One especially big box sat on top of the outline of a square on the ground. Stuck to the side was a bit of paper that read only, _Don’t._

“What’s that?” Callum asked as he pointed.

Danny shrugged. “Door to the basement’s basement.”

“What, like a crawlspace or something?” 

“Close enough.”

Great. Boring led to more boring. 

Danny went to the desk closest to the right, and after a moment of shuffling where he stood, Callum took the one next to him, slinging his bag on top, then slumped back into the chair. 

Sigh. Long sigh. The kind that made his lips buzz together.

“Where is everyone?”

Danny glanced over from whatever he was doing on his laptop. “They come and go. Not many people work down here.”

Ugh. Well, it wasn’t like the lobby was _interesting,_ so he couldn’t be too disappointed. Traded cold and bored for hot and bored, but here he had better than his folder in his lap. 

He tugged out his history textbook. Time to glare at the pictures scattered through and wish all the old people in them could just _tell_ him whatever some act or treaty or something was for. And when. And why. 

Maybe they could even fill out the whole worksheet for him, and he could take a nap. That sounded alright. 

The right edge of the worksheet was torn and bent from where he shut it in the book. Could’ve put it in his folder, but that meant having to pull it out of his desk, while his textbook was right in front of him. Besides, if he could still read the page, who cared if it got a little messed up?

Callum bet all the old people in the book wouldn’t care. They all used parchment or something, right? Old historical paper. Bet all those old treaties and acts and stuff got messed up too, during sword fights and all. Everyone in the pictures had swords with them, so they had to happen plenty. 

Stupid that people didn’t do that anymore. Swords were cool. 

“Why’s he here?” 

Callum’s head jerked up from where he’d been doodling swords on the edges of his worksheet to see knife lady. Her hair was half up in a messy bun, black curls frizzy and falling out all over the place. She looked annoyed. 

“Rosie said he hangs around a couple times a week, remember?” Danny said before Callum could reply himself. “So it might as well be somewhere with an actual desk. Bit early to get back problems.” 

Knife lady didn’t look like she cared for that explanation. “We’re not _babysitters.”_

“I’m not a _baby.”_

“How old are you?” She scrutinized Callum with sharp eyes. “Nine?”

“I’m _twelve,”_ he snapped back. 

“Right.” Rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m _not_ taking a round on nanny duty.” 

Callum’s hand went tight on his pencil, but before he could say anything, Danny cut in. “I promise that in the schedule that doesn’t exist, the name _Melanie_ will never show up. Pinky swear.” 

Knife lady — Melanie, apparently — just scoffed as she took another one of the desks and put on headphones, the big noise-cancelling sort. Callum glared a moment longer, but she didn’t look up again. Waste of a good evil eye. 

It wasn’t until he’d muscled through half the questions in front of him that Danny spoke up again. 

“Mind my asking why you pop in so much?” Asked casually. He didn’t turn from whatever he was doing on his computer, which meant Callum’s shrug was lost on him. 

When it became clear Danny wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to shrug again and leave it at that, Callum mumbled, “I dunno.” 

“I’m not saying you need to stop or cut back or anything,” Danny said. “Just…” His hands flexed. “Just curious.” 

Nothing to be curious about, in Callum’s mind. He came here because, what else was he doing with his day? Plus, if he put up with Rosie fussing over him, she would give him a sweet. Not a bad deal. 

“Not much fun to do at home, then?” Danny did look at him then, just a slight turn of his head. It meant Callum could shrug now, so he did. 

“I guess.”

“‘Specially if your parents are still at work most of the day.”

Another shrug. “My dad works nights, so he’s still home.”

Danny paused for a moment, then nodded. “Got it.”

Finishing the worksheet took what felt like _years._ Every answer grew more slapdash than the last, but even knowing that, Callum couldn’t make himself care. It was over with. 

The textbook slammed shut with enough of Callum’s relief behind it that Danny jumped a little in his chair. 

“Made it through?”

“Yeah.” He started to shove his things back in his bag without any care for if his homework got any more crumpled. “I’m going home.” 

“I’ll walk you to the door.”

“I know where it is,” Callum grumbled.

“Yeah, I know.” Danny stood and stretched. “But I’m not gonna pass up on an excuse to skip out on work for a bit.”

A snort slipped out before Callum could catch it. Covering it with a scowl was a lost cause, but that didn’t stop him from giving it his best shot.

Didn’t work, based on Danny’s face. Ugh.

Their walk back to the lobby was quiet. Not awkward, though. Callum spent it trying to decide if he’d bother going in the front door at home, or if he’d pop in through his bedroom window. Whether his mother was home yet or not would make that choice.

“Headed off?”

Rosie’s voice shook Callum out of his thoughts, and he nodded. “See you.”

“Have a safe walk home!” 

Danny waved from where he’d stopped by the door further into the Institute. “See you soon.” 

Callum didn’t reply, too busy wrestling his coat back on, and forged off into the cold alone.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He didn’t lie to Rosie. 

Callum _was_ going to go down to the archives today. Put it in the little sign-in book and everything. 

He didn’t _lie._ He was just making a detour. 

There had to be more interesting places in here somewhere. It couldn’t all be bullpens and bookshelves, right? Maybe there were cool laboratories or something. Callum had seen _Ghostbusters_ before. He knew how it worked. 

Going unnoticed as he skulked through the halls was easy. It helped that the whole place felt weirdly empty, too. Danny had said not many people worked in the archives, but it was looking more and more like not many people worked here, _period._ That or they were just spread out a lot throughout the place. 

The first promising sign was for a room labelled _Artifact Storage._ “Storage” on its own would be dull, but artifacts could mean anything. Haunted tomes, cursed weapons, who knew?

Callum was in luck. As soon as he started to wonder how he might get past the ID card swipe, someone left the room, then held the door open for the one behind them — meaning, the door was open _way_ wider than it would have been if the first one brushed through alone.

Just needed to wait for them to get a few steps away, then he could get to the door right before it shut. _Finally,_ he could see what all the fuss with this place was about.

His fingers caught the handle.

A hand caught his shoulder. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Crap.

Callum lost his grip — and with that, his chance to find something _cool_ — and faced cop lady. Basira, maybe? He was pretty sure that was what Danny called her. 

Shrug. “Lookin’ around.” 

“Right.” Basira steered him towards the stairs. “You don’t go in there.” 

“Who says?”

“Me.”

“So?”

Basira halted where she stood, dragging Callum to a stop at her side. Again, she turned him in place. 

She was on the big side — not as tall as Danny, but he looked like Jack Skellington, so. The nearest ceiling light backlit her and made the scar across her forehead look nearly black against her skin. 

“You of all people should know better than to poke around in this stuff.” 

“Shove off.” His arms crossed. “Why are you even _here?”_

“I work here.”

“You’re a cop.”

“I _was_ a cop.” Her lips pursed. “And while I _was,_ someone died to keep you safe from stuff like what’s in there.”

A knot formed in his stomach, one he squashed as hard as possible with a curled lip. Nothing he could say to that. 

“Come on.”

Their descent was silent, and took what felt like ten thousand years. Basira’s hand never left his shoulder. It was like she thought as soon as she stopped looking at him, he’d run off again.

Fair. He probably would.

For a minute, Callum thought Basira might make him leave when they reached the lobby. Based on how she eyed the door, she thought she might do the same thing.

“I don’t like that you come here.” Flat tone. “You ran headfirst into a fight that I told you straight out to stay away from, and there were about a hundred ways you could have gotten hurt. Or killed. Killing you is probably the kindest anything in artifact storage could do.”

G-d. What kind of right did she have to tell him off? He barely knew her. 

“But Danny has a point. Once people get into this side of things, there’s not much way to get out.” Basira folded his arms. “If you’re going to be here, you’re going to be smart about it. You stay in the archives or the lobby. Nowhere else. And _don’t_ wander off by yourself.”

“Can’t even go to the bathroom?” Callum sneered.

He couldn’t tell which was more emphatic, the roll of Basira’s eyes or the grit of her teeth. “Yes, Callum, you’re allowed to go to the bathroom.”

“Do I need a hall pass?”

“Stuff it.” 

When they came into the archives, Danny sat up at his desk with a smile that immediately vanished on seeing their expressions. Raised brows took its place.

“Woah.” His eyes flicked between them. “What happened?”

“Caught this one sneaking into artifact storage.” Basira didn’t pause in her step as she went over to the desk next to Melanie’s. 

“I didn’t even go inside!” Callum retorted to her back.

“Yeah, ‘cause I caught you before you could.” 

Scowling, Callum threw his bag down next to his usual chair. He didn’t bother to open it, instead folding his arms on the desk and hunching over where he sat to press his mouth against his crossed forearms, eyes glaring just over them. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” Danny said, clearly pushing the lighthearted tone. “I also don’t have clearance.”

Part of Callum wanted to ask why. The rest of him wanted to be mad, still. The second part was much, much bigger, and Callum kept silent. 

Danny let him be. Callum tried his hardest to be mad about that, too.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The door slammed shut behind Callum as he came in from the front porch, then kicked his shoes off into the pile next to the door. Scuffs from salt tracked in and out covered the linoleum. 

“Where have you been?”

Callum looked up, wary. Was today one of his mother’s scared days? It’d been ages since the last one. 

But no, none of that same sort of frantic energy. Just exhaustion. She barely looked up from where she was bent over half-finished work at the kitchen table. 

“Tristan’s.” He glanced around. Television was off, lights were low. “Where’s Dad?”

“Sleeping. He works tonight.” 

“‘Kay.”

He crossed through the living room, but before he could get far, his mother called out again.

“Callum?”

“Mm?”

She raised her arms when he turned. “Come give your mother a hug.” 

Ugh. He trudged back across the room, stopping close enough that she could pull him in. His own arms fell loosely around her shoulders.

“How have you been?”

“Fine.”

“That’s what you always say.” 

Callum sniffed. “‘Cause I’m fine.” 

She pulled away a bit, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Your dad said you two had another argument.”

That was a word for it. “Yeah.” 

“Angel…” His mother sighed. She somehow looked _more_ tired. “You know I hate when you two fight.”

“Then tell _him_ to stop being—”

“Callum, don’t. You _also_ know how much better he is than Phillip.”

He grimaced. He’d never even _met_ his biological father, but his mother had told enough stories. The guy had treated her like garbage, she said. Hit her and everything, and his stepfather didn’t hit her. Things could always be worse. 

“I guess.” 

His mother leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “He loves you, angel. I know it’s hard to see that when you’re almost a teenager, but everything he does is for you. Everything we _both_ do is for you.”

A shrug was all he could give her. Callum knew. He just wished it felt that way.

Another squeeze, and his mother released him. “No telly tonight, so you don’t wake your dad. I work late tomorrow, so I won’t be home until after dinner. You promise to come straight home after school?”

“Yeah.” He wouldn’t, not that it mattered. It wasn’t like she would check. 

“Good.” The exhaustion she’d briefly put aside came down once more as she turned to the spread on the table. 

Nothing happened when he hit the switch in his bedroom. He ignored the twist in his stomach at the empty void in front of him.

“Mum? The light’s out again.”

“Callum…” Said on a sigh. “Keep your voice down. You know where the lightbulbs are.”

He knew how to change the bulb by himself by now. Didn’t mean he liked doing it. His mother knew that, but the fact that he could do so alone was enough. He had to grow up sometime. 

As always, he spent every second screwing the bulb in half-convinced it would never turn on. As always, the flash of blindness that hit when it did was a full-body sort of relief. 

Always _so far_ wasn’t always _always._ Even better than where the bulbs were kept or how to change them, Callum knew that their light would never, ever last.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Homework: done. Kind of. As done as Callum felt like. No reason to go home now, though.

So, it was folding pages into ninja stars. Callum had three already. 

“You making an army over there?”

Rather than answer, Callum took aim and flicked one at Danny. Smacked him right in the nose. _Score._

“Ow.”

Callum snorted at the flat reply, then went back to work on a fourth. 

“Huh.” Across the room, from Basira’s desk. Callum glanced up to see her brows furrow, staring at her phone. 

Melanie asked first. “What’s up?”

“Just got a text from someone from my old precinct,” Basira answered. “Apparently, a bunch of the pipes around the evidence lockup burst. It soaked almost everything.”

Boring. Fourth ninja star time. 

“And do they usually give you plumbing updates?” Callum could hear the smile in Danny’s voice. 

“No, but they let me know when things are _spooky.”_

…Less boring. Pause on the origami. 

Basira passed her phone to Melanie, who held the screen up closer in obvious confusion as she mouthed along to whatever she read. 

“Obviously, there’s no proof it’s related,” Basira added as she took her phone back. “But when half the water _froze_ in a heated building, and then some cryptic note like that just pops on the steps to the place, pretty clear things are…” 

“Supernatural?” Melanie supplied.

“Cataclysmic?” Danny added.

“Spooky.” 

A loose swing, and Basira’s phone went sailing clear across the room. Danny snatched it out of the air without skipping a beat.

“Watch it, that was close. Even for me.” 

“Your arms are long.”

Callum slipped from his chair as they bickered to peer over Danny’s shoulder. A picture of a handwritten note filled the screen.

_“Bell the…”_ Danny squinted. _“First?”_

“What’s that mean?”

Basira answered Callum with a shrug. “No idea. No one there seems to know yet, either.”

“Weird.”

Danny tossed her phone back in a much slower arc. “Did they think you’d have some insight, or…?”

“Not really,” Basira said as she caught it. “Kind of an off chance, so I don’t think he was expecting much from me. Nothing I can think of, myself.” 

Melanie adjusted where she was curled up in her chair like a cat. “Unless we have some kelpies on the loose.”

“Do kelpies freeze things?” Danny asked. Melanie shot him a dry look.

“Find a kelpie, and we’ll find out.” 

Danny made a considerate face with lips pursed and brows up as he stood. “Guess I better get started.” 

“Are those—” Callum twiddled a half-finished ninja star in his hand as he followed behind. “I mean, are they real?” 

“No idea! If you want to come to the library with me, you could look around. Start your own research project.” 

Reading. No thanks. Still, the walk would be nice. 

Basira’s face was firm. “Don’t—” 

“Relax,” Danny interrupted as he held the archives door open for Callum. “He’s not gonna burn down the building.”

Two steps from the door, Danny leaned back to poke his head into the archives. “Or flood it!”

Basira snapped something Callum didn’t catch. He laughed anyway, just from how easily Danny could rile her up.

The stairs always echoed. Callum was certain every time he took them that each step could be heard from the very top floor, all the way down. 

“Are you going to find books on kelpies, or whatever?”

Danny laughed. “Nah, I was just giving Basira a hard time. _I’m_ going,” he continued primly, “to beg Hannah’s forgiveness for how long I’ve had a book checked out.” 

“What book?”

“Uh, _Pseudomonarchia Daemonum.”_ He winked at Callum. “I needed some light reading before bed, y’know? Nothing to lull you to sleep like the false monarchy of hell.”

Callum couldn’t tell if he was joking or not — and if he was, how much of it was the joke. “Uh huh.” 

“Normally Hannah is fine waiving late fees if you bring her a chocolate croissant, but I haven’t been out much the last few days,” Danny went on. “Which is also why I keep forgetting to go to my house to grab the book at all.”

“…You don’t go home?” Danny had said at Madame Tussauds he didn’t live here like the others, didn’t he? Maybe something happened.

“Work never sleeps.” A grimace. “Neither do vampires.”

Callum stopped in his tracks. “Wait, vampires? What?” 

Another grimace. “Probably shouldn’t have said that, huh?”

“Too late.” Excitement sent Callum’s hand shooting out to shake Danny by the arm. The unfinished ninja star went flying in the opposite direction. “Vampires are a thing? Like, they’re really real?”

“Uh, kind of.” Danny kept pace up the stairs as he explained, but he didn’t shake Callum off. “Way grosser than you think, though. Their throats do this weird thing where they… open? Inside is like sharks’ teeth, with all the different rows.”

“Gross,” Callum agreed with a grin. 

“I’m just lucky I could catch the weird hypnotism thing they do.”

“Hypnotism?” None of this sounded like the guys in capes with fangs. These were cooler. Way, way cooler. 

“Mhm.” At last, they came to the top of the stairs. As Danny pulled open the landing door, he added, “It didn’t expect me to have some of my own tricks up my sleeve, there.”

Callum’s grin widened. “Did you kill it? Like, with a stake in the heart or whatever?”

Danny laughed again. “Uh, no, I just got it to piss off. I’m not trying to build a career on vampire hunting. My brother would call me Van Helsing until the end of _time.”_

Even if he didn’t recognize the reference, the look on Danny’s face made Callum snort. “So, you stay here now.”

“Yep. For now, anyway.” Danny shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I just sleep a little farther away from the others, and we’re golden.”

It didn’t sound bad at all to Callum. The basement was hot and the place itself was kind of boring, but still. Not the worst place to be. 

“Library’s this way. Or, wait—” 

Danny jogged a few paces in the opposite direction. The basement might have been hot, but the second floor was chilly enough that Callum found himself missing his coat.

No nameplate at the door where Danny stopped. He didn’t knock before opening it. 

“Martin?”

Empty. Danny sighed.

“Who’s Martin?”

“A friend.” Danny let the door swing shut, face drawn. The click of the latch echoed. “We haven’t seen a lot of him after his… _promotion,_ but he used to work in the archives.”

“Oh.” 

Rocked back on his heels, Danny’s arms folded. He looked thoughtful. Not the _making a plan_ sort of thoughtful, more like the sort when Callum’s mother looked at that spread on the kitchen table and thought aloud about what they might be able to go without that month. _Keeping afloat,_ thoughtful. _No good choice,_ thoughtful. 

“C’mon.” Danny tried to sound upbeat, and did a fair job of it. Callum still saw right through. “I’ve kept Hannah waiting long enough.” 

The library itself was no more interesting than anywhere else here. It didn’t even have the spooky look Callum was hoping for, all dark wood and engraved _everything._ Some cases were locked, and Callum caught sight of a couple more doors with ID swipes farther between the shelves, but those were as far as any mysteries went. The rest was just thin carpet and fluorescent lights. 

Yawn.

The woman at the desk smiled when they came in, but Callum could tell it wasn’t true. Not fully. She looked too tired for that. Brown skin couldn’t hide the circles under her eyes, and neither could earrings shaped like rubber ducks. 

Before Hannah could say a word, a smaller voice interrupted. 

“Mr. Danny, hi!” The kid bouncing in the chair near her looked little — maybe seven, if Callum had to guess.

“Hey, Juno!” Danny waved. “What’re you doing here?”

“Penny and Isaac are both sick,” Hannah answered. “So we’re trying to keep Juno from getting it, too.” 

Juno had slid from his chair while his mother explained and circled the desk, then tugged on Danny’s sleeve. When Danny crouched to level with him, he went on his tiptoes to whisper something right in Danny’s ear. He wasn’t very good at it, though, and Callum caught every word.

“When’s Mr. Tim gonna be back?”

Danny’s face did something funny, but a small smile masked it a second later. “Any day now, alright?” The nod Juno gave was big enough the clips on the ends of his braids clacked together. 

He turned with an expectant look. “What’s your name? Mine is Juno Masters.” 

“Callum. Uh, Callum Brodie.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Callum caught sight of Hannah’s face. Sudden understanding. She knew him. Of course she knew him. 

Long enough had passed that people didn’t know him by face anymore even if his school picture had been on every news channel in London. Names, though. People remembered names. 

Was he going to be _that kid who got kidnapped_ forever? What did he have to do to be something else?

Hannah _knowing_ made Callum sick. Looking at Juno and knowing how much he _didn’t know_ made him sicker. 

The adults didn’t notice. They were good at that. Too busy talking with each other. Juno didn’t bother with them, just bounced on his toes with an eager grin. 

“Do you wanna play something while you’re here?”

Something freezing cold twisted in his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Come on.” 

“Mummy, we’re gonna go play!” 

Hannah looked relieved. “Stay _quiet,_ Junie.” Danny nodded with a quick smile before turning to talk to Hannah again. Callum paid their conversation just as much attention as they paid him and started off between the shelves. 

“What do you wanna play?” Juno ran ahead, then turned back and fell into step with Callum for a few seconds before breaking away again. “I brought some toys from home, but they’re at my mummy’s desk. They’re robots!”

“We’re gonna play pretend.” 

Excited nods. “Are we pretending to be pirates, maybe? Or detectives? Or—”

“We’ll be _investigators.”_ Bingo. Closet door. He didn’t need to check if Juno would follow along. “You know what that is?”

“Yeah! What do we do?”

The sound of Hannah and Danny’s conversation was long faded by now. As far as Callum could tell, there was no one else in the library. He checked the handle of the closet — unlocked. Perfect. 

“You’ll investigate first. There’s some hidden secret in here, and we’ve gotta find it, but it only comes out in the dark.”

Juno’s smile faded a bit. “Okay, but— But we both go, right?”

A little fade wasn’t proper fear. If this baby wasn’t scared of the dark, and Callum— 

Callum wasn’t. He wasn’t, but Juno should be. Everyone should be. That was what made _sense._

“One at a time. The secret hides if more than one person is there.”

The door stood open as Juno stared inside. Just printer paper and all. Some cleaning supplies. Nothing scary but shadows. 

“And… I go first?”

“Yeah.” Callum nudged his back. “Unless you’re _scared.”_

Juno turned to him with wide, indignant eyes. “I’m a big kid!”

Callum almost laughed. “Prove it, then.” 

Every one of Juno’s steps took ages, like he had to convince himself to move. _Such_ a baby. 

“I’m an investigator. And I’m gonna find the secret.” He looked back at Callum. “What is it?”

“It’s not a secret if I tell you. But it’s _really_ cool.”

The library’s light turned to a wedge in the closet as Callum shut the door, then a sliver, then nothing at all. The last thing Callum saw was Juno’s round, nervous face. 

For a moment, he couldn’t hear anything. He sat just below the door handle as he waited.

“Um.” Juno’s voice shook, just a little. “How do I play, now?”

“See if you can find the secret. It’s in there, but you gotta search.”

“But I can’t see.” 

“That’s what makes it a game.” 

Some fumbling noises inside like Juno was feeling around, but they stopped before long. Closets always felt so cramped they choked and so huge they smothered from the inside. No surprise he gave up in seconds.

“I don’t like this game.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

More fumbling. Something clattered to the ground, and Juno yelped. 

“I wanna play something else.”

“Just find the secret first, then we’ll play something different.”

The knob above Callum’s head turned and twisted. “No, I— I wanna be done with this one. It’s really dark in here, okay?” 

Juno was starting to sound afraid. He didn’t know what fear was. He didn’t know what _dark_ was. Callum couldn’t do much about that, but this was close. 

“What, are you _scared?”_

“No!” More twisting of the knob, and sniffling. “You win, okay? We can— Let’s play something else, now. I don’t like _investigators.”_

Before Callum could reply, he heard a voice from the front of the library.

“Junebug?”

Hannah. Crap.

Steps approached. Callum prayed that Juno could keep his big mouth shut. 

It didn’t take long for her to see Callum sitting against the closet. She scanned the area around him as she walked his way, searching.

“Where’s Juno?”

“We’re playing hide-and-seek,” Callum answered, thinking fast. “I was just about to—”

_“Mummy!”_ Teary. More knob-twisting.

Hannah’s eyes flicked to the closet door, then widened. She pierced Callum with a furious glare.

_“Move.”_

Said with the force of a cannonball. Callum scooted to the side, face twisted. The freezing cold inside him made way for something that burned. As soon as he was out of the way, Hannah tore the door open and dropped to her knees, arms out to catch a crying Juno. 

_“Shh,_ baby, I’m here,” she murmured as he clutched at her. Burning heat made its way up to tighten Callum’s throat as he watched Hannah rock Juno slightly. 

That heat was nothing compared to the fire still in her eyes when she zeroed in Callum. With Juno in her arms, she got to her feet. 

“I don’t know _where_ you learned that this is acceptable, but—”

“Woah, hey.” Danny came from between the shelves and took in the scene. “What’s going on?”

Hannah strode to meet him, every step sharp. Callum couldn’t catch much of their conversation — too low, too fast. Hannah’s voice was the sort of harsh, whispered anger of a parent, but Danny didn’t match her heat. He nodded along, glanced over when Hannah gestured to Callum. Callum couldn’t read his face.

His legs drew up to his chest, and he rested his chin on one knee. No doubt he was going to get kicked out of here, probably for good, but that would happen sooner or later anyway. Who cared? 

“—talk to him,” Danny said. “We’ll get it sorted out.” 

Hannah adjusted her hold on Juno, one hand trailing up and down his back. He had yet to lift his face from where it was buried against her neck. 

“Fine. But he’s not coming to the library when Juno’s here.”

“Yeah, of course.” 

Another few words, and Hannah marched off towards the desk with her son in her arms. 

“C’mon.” Danny nodded to the right. “There’s some chairs over this way.” 

Callum didn’t want to do any of this with other people near, but it wasn’t like he was the one calling shots. Just had to get it over with, then he’d leave and not come back. Fine. 

The chairs were old things, overstuffed and small. Kind of uncomfortable. Callum could feel a tack digging into his leg. If Danny thought the same thing, Callum couldn’t tell. He couldn’t even tell how mad Danny was. 

“You want to tell me what happened?”

Mouth pinched, Callum shrugged and stared at the chair’s armrest.

“…‘Cause Juno looked pretty upset.”

“It was just a game,” Callum muttered.

Danny tilted his head in an attempt to catch Callum’s eye. Callum didn’t meet him. “Did he say he wanted to stop?”

Shrug. 

“But you didn’t want to stop.” 

“I was just messing around.” His arms folded. Tense. He wanted this conversation to be _over._ Waiting was the worst part. 

“Yeah. And Juno got hurt because of it.”

Callum did look up then, brows furrowed. “He wasn’t hurt. I didn’t hit him or nothing!” 

“Just scaring people really badly can hurt them, too.” Still, _still,_ Danny didn’t seem mad. 

Slouched further in his chair, Callum mumbled, “That’s stupid.”

“It’s true.”

Callum studied his shoes. Juno wasn’t that scared. Juno didn’t know _how_ to be scared. Not really. 

When he didn’t say anything, Danny went on. “You’ve been really scared before, yeah?”

Shrug.

“And that’s the kind of thing that sticks with you. You might not have a cut, or a scar, or _anything,_ but it can still hurt you. It’s a different sort of hurt.”

Somehow, freezing cold and burning heat managed to fit inside his chest. He hated them both.

Being scared couldn’t _hurt._ No way. That was the thing no one would shut up about when he got pulled out of that warehouse. _It’s amazing you’re not hurt; we’re so glad they didn’t hurt you; Callum Brodie, age 12, rescued unharmed._ Even the solid shadows that crept across his skin didn’t hurt him, even if they felt like they did. No injuries bigger than some scrapes and bruises. Even if it hurt, it didn’t _hurt_ him.

Danny was wrong, then. Had to be. 

“Juno might not have been as scared just now as you were whatever time you were most scared, but to him, it's just as overwhelming — especially since he’s so little.”

Callum tried to remember when he was most scared at that age. It was hard to think of anything. If no memory jumped out, it must not have happened. It must not have been bad enough for him to remember. It must not exist.

“So, I think it’d be a good idea to apologize to him before we go back down to the archives, okay?”

Muttered, “Fine.”

Danny studied him a moment longer, then nodded. “You ready?”

Shrug. May as well get this part over with. 

Instead of anything Callum expected, Danny got up from his chair and started in the direction of the front desk. 

Callum pushed himself to sit up, confused. “Wait. Just like that?”

“Sorry?” When Danny turned back, there was no sign of any expressions that were supposed to be there. Callum couldn't read a thing.

“That’s it. We just talk, and I say I’m sorry to Juno.” 

“That’s it,” Danny confirmed. “We don’t need to do anything else.”

Callum felt like one of those old-fashioned spinning top toys, right when it slowed into a loose, wobbly swirl before the fall. “Usually—”

No. No, he shouldn’t say any of that. Maybe Danny just forgot. Maybe it would remind him. 

“…Usually, what?” Danny’s face was very, very neutral.

Callum managed to slouch lower in his chair, shoulders knotted up to his ears. “Never mind.” 

Danny tilted his head. Nothing else changed. “You sure?”

Stupid question. Callum nodded with a vague, affirming noise.

“Alright.” At least Danny wasn’t going to push. “But if you’re ever _not_ sure, just let me know, yeah?”

Shrug.

Again, Danny started to go. Again, he paused. “Actually…” An expression Callum _could_ read — deliberation. A search and a scrawl later, Danny held a slip of paper from the table between their chairs towards him. “Here.”

Callum glanced between Danny’s hand and his eyes, back and forth. “What is it?”

“My phone number.” Danny crouched, elbows set on his knees. “If you ever need someone to come get you. If you aren’t safe.”

“Safe?”

“Yeah. I’ll, uh… I’ll feel better if you have that. Just in case.” 

Callum didn’t like the look on his face, now. Like Danny was trying to be all-knowing about something he clearly didn’t understand.

He took the phone number anyway.

“Thanks.” It sounded genuine. “Let’s go.”

As Callum trailed behind Danny, he thought. _Not safe_ meant getting hurt. Right? And being scared counted as _hurt,_ according to Danny. 

Weird. 

Juno hadn’t left his mother’s lap, arms still loose around her neck. Weepy. Callum’s stomach rolled. How could Juno just _do_ that?

A hand coming to rest on his upper back made him startle, and it drew away. 

“Sorry,” Danny said quietly. Callum wished he’d stop being so _weird._ Still, it meant Callum only had to parrot him. 

“Sorry, Juno.” Mumbled. He didn’t look up from a just-begun coloring book page on the desk. 

Juno’s voice was still thick when he replied, “S’okay.” Hannah’s lips pursed, but she didn’t say anything as she tugged him close again and traded a look with Danny. 

The air as the pair of them left the library and started back down to the archives felt heavy. Anticipation itched on Callum’s back, but Danny had said that talking and apologizing was the end of it. No actual discipline. It didn’t make any _sense._

His heart flew into his throat when Danny stopped in the middle of one flight, but Danny only bent over to pick something up. 

An unfinished ninja star. The one Callum had dropped earlier. 

“Can’t lose that,” Danny said with an attempt at a smile. Callum stared for a long moment, then snatched it from Danny’s hand and shoved it in his pocket. Definitely crumpled, now. He didn’t care. 

As he continued to shuffle down the stairs, Danny hung back for a step. Callum could just about hear him murmur something to himself.

“Finding the lines. Right, Tim?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The outline of his bedroom door was burned into the back of his eyelids, by now. He was sure of it. 

The light from the living room meant his stepfather was awake. Callum was sent to bed hours ago, but there was no sleeping. Not yet. 

As always, he stared into the empty blackness in the middle of that rectangle of light. If he tried hard enough, he could picture a monster lying in wait. It didn’t face him, not ever. Its attention stayed locked on the door. 

Tonight, it had scales. Sometimes it had fur. Sometimes it had feathers. Small and quick, or huge and hulking.

It was big, this time. Teeth, maybe, like big fangs. Talons, too. Or, no — claws. Claws that dripped with poison. Callum could almost convince himself he heard the quiet drops of it hit the floor. 

Shuffling past the door, and a shadow. He pictured the monster’s claws curling with a low growl. 

_Picture_ wasn’t right. His monster couldn't be seen, not when it was imaginary, but he could never even imagine what it actually _looked_ like. He knew all the pieces, though. Fitting them together in his head meant he knew what those pieces did. 

It had a big frill, tonight, like some kind of lizard. The sort that flared up when it hissed. Tomorrow night, it might have a mane. The next, it might be so small those sorts of things didn’t fit. He had to make it different every night. If he didn’t, he’d just lay in bed and be— 

Not scared. Just waiting. 

In the dark, his monster could be anything. It was always deadly. 

The light in the living room went out. The outline of his bedroom door vanished, and he could hear the front door open, then shut. 

The monster was gone. Callum could sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: heavily implied child abuse (disciplinary abuse specifically), bullying
> 
> writing this with juno made me hurt but unfortunately callum has some Things to unlearn. we'll get there
> 
> on the horizon: a new, old member of the crew joins


	3. Xibalbá Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[K'iche']_ Formed by the dark zone of the Milky Way. Believed to be a path to the underworld, literally translated as the “place of fear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since this is the first chapter that uses a non-western name, [[this paper](https://www.academia.edu/39929953/A_Cultural_Comparison_of_Dark_Constellations_of_the_Milky_Way)] is my source for a huge chunk of my titles and definitions! as you can imagine finding sources for non-western constellations is a pain in the ass, and finding ones for southern hemisphere dark constellations is an even bigger one. it’s 100% free to read, so if that’s the sort of thing you’re into, check it out — it’s interesting as hell!
> 
> cws in the end note, but they're very very brief
> 
> suggested listening: boys will be bugs cavetown  
> [EDIT: changed this one after posting since right after i did i _immediately_ found a better one. life is endless struggling and i am angy.]

Callum made sure to catch his breath before going downstairs. Whether he rushed to the Institute after school or not was nobody's business but his. 

And Rosie’s.

Thankfully, she was on the phone and couldn’t ask questions. Their interaction was limited to a wave and an offered tin. 

Today was a strawberry sort of day, he decided. The strawberry ones were the best, and if nearly-full marks on his science exam didn’t earn it, he didn’t know what did.

The exam was still clutched in his hand. He’d forgotten to put it in his bag, and he hadn’t wanted to fuss with it on the trip here. The pages were kind of bent between his windblown fingers, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the score written on top, circled in bright red pen. 

Going down the stairs so fast it felt like he was flying made Callum grin. He stumbled a few steps when he reached the bottom without anywhere to put the speed he’d built. Once he had his feet under him, he opened the archives door, ready to walk in all nonchalant. 

Good plan, if the place wasn’t empty. 

Callum’s brows furrowed as he scanned the desks. Usually, there was at least one of the three there, and though Basira wasn’t very chatty and Melanie had days where she got all sharp and irritated, they would know where Danny was. Nobody, today. 

He circled the place, checking both side rooms. One held nothing but especially yellowed papers. The office in the back was locked, but when he peered through a window set into the door, he saw nothing but a desk, some file cabinets, and a cane leaned against the back wall. 

A sort of _spiders crawling up your back_ feeling set in. It was _always_ weird here, but weird with others felt a lot different than weird alone. 

Maybe… Maybe Basira was in her office. He’d seen her popping in and out of a room farther down the hall. Maybe she would have some answers. 

The first door he tried opened into what he guessed might have been an office at some point, but now held an air mattress and a couple sleeping bags. Danny said they stayed here — must be the girls’ room, judging by the knife lying on one blanket.

If they all spent the night here, maybe sometime Callum could— 

No. No, that was stupid. 

Not the time to dwell on that, anyway, not when he still hadn’t found anyone. Next door. 

Maintenance closet. Next.

As the third door opened, Callum’s eyes first caught on Basira. She was crouched in front of another person, whose arms were wrapped tight around themself where they sat curled on the ground, fingers digging so hard into their ribs that it must hurt. 

“…Danny?”

Immediately, Basira was on her feet, blocking Callum before he could come in. He went on his tiptoes to try and see around her. “What’s— Is he hurt or something, or—”

“You need to go.” 

From the far wall, Callum heard a low, “Sorry, I’m sorry, I…”

“Sorry?” Callum’s head whipped between Basira and the flashes of her office he could only just catch as he was herded back into the hall. “What’s he sorry for?”

“He’s…” Basira spared a glance over her shoulder. “He’s not talking to us.”

It didn’t make any sense. “Who’s he talking to, then?”

“Just— go find Melanie or Martin.” She filled the space between the door and doorframe easily. “They can help him better than me.”

What was going on? What happened? Why _now?_

_“Callum.”_

He swallowed hard, then nodded and raced off.

Danny needed help. Callum would help him.

No idea where to even _begin_ looking for Melanie. She wasn’t in their sleeping room, or the archives itself. Not in the office, not with the older files. Nowhere.

Upwards, then. 

Four flights of stairs from the basement to the second level knocked the wind out of him with how fast he took each step, but it wasn’t as if he could slow down. No way. Not happening. 

Lightheadedness couldn’t keep him from tracking down the office door with no name. He tore it open in a flash, and the sight of a man at the desk nearly sent him to the floor in relief. 

The man — Martin? — stared in blank confusion. Eyes round, mouth half-open. His office was freezing. 

“Can I… help you? Who, um— You aren’t really supposed to be—”

“It’s…” Callum gulped in air. “It’s Danny, he’s— I don’t know, Basira just said to—”

Martin was on his feet before Callum said another word. “Where?”

“Her— her office, he was just—”

“Shutdown?” Said as if it was some proper term for something.

“I don’t know,” Callum repeated as he followed behind. “I guess.”

Martin scratched at his patchy facial hair, just a couple shades darker than his skin. “You’d know if it was a flashback.”

“Okay.” No telling what he was talking about. Callum would know, apparently. What did a flashback even _mean?_ Or a shutdown, for that matter? What were they meant to look like?

It wasn’t flight, but Martin was no slouch when it came to speed. Even when he almost bowled someone over, he only paused enough to toss a quick, “Sorry!” over his shoulder. Callum didn’t bother with the same. 

As they reached the basement hall, Martin slowed enough to blow into his cupped palms, then rubbed them together. When he caught Callum watching, he offered a thin smile and said, “My hands were cold. Basira’s office?” 

“Yeah.”

Martin knocked, and a second later, the door opened. Relief flashed on Basira’s face. They didn’t say anything, merely traded places. Callum caught Martin sitting on the ground across from Danny before he was at last shut out.

Silence for a long moment.

“Is he gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. This happens sometimes.”

“…Why?”

Basira didn’t reply beyond a slow breath and a gesture to follow her. With one last uneasy glance at her office door, Callum did as asked. 

Melanie had yet to return from wherever she was, so there was no trouble when Basira grabbed the chair from her desk to drag it next to her own. She sat, then nodded for Callum to take Melanie’s. 

Callum was still holding his exam. He felt kind of silly for it, now. 

Today was not a strawberry sort of day.

“I don’t know how much he wants you to know,” Basira started. “About all this. I mean, we’ve talked some. If you’re gonna be around here, you should know, especially considering what happened with you and the People’s Church.”

Something startled in Callum’s chest at the sudden mention of it. He didn’t say anything.

“I think Danny was hoping to tell you himself before something like this happened, but… here we are.” Rather than look at him, Basira’s eyes stayed trained on where she rolled a pen between her fingers. “So I’ll just say the basics. If he wants to explain more, that’s up to him.

“The stuff the Church did to you? That’s what happened to him.”

Paper crinkled as his hand curled tight. He fought down impulses to say _no way_ or _shut up_ or _you’re lying,_ but the effort meant he still said nothing at all. Basira kept on anyway.

“Wasn’t the Church, but they’re similar.” The pen migrated to flip back and forth between her first and middle fingers. “It was— Most of them weren’t even human anymore. And he needed some help to get out.” 

"…Oh.” He should have questions, he knew. He _did_ have questions, but they hid behind a big blurry haze of _huh?_ No telling where they started or ended or led. 

“He was there for a while, and there were times where he got hurt.” 

“Hurt like, _scared,_ hurt, or _hurt,_ hurt?”

She didn’t have to think about it. “Both.” 

_Both._ To her, _scared_ hurt _was_ a sort of hurt. Callum didn’t know what to make of that. 

“It means that if something reminds him of what happened there, things can go bad.” Her thumbnail dug into a seam at the pen tip. “His head thinks he’s in danger again, so we have to help him get it sorted.” 

“Why?”

Basira looked at him at last. “Why help him?”

“No, why— why’s his head do that?”

“Post-traumatic stress. You can get survival mode stuck in the way you respond to certain things when you’re in that kind of danger, or if you get hurt bad enough. And when you get out, it stays stuck like that.” 

Callum slumped back in his chair, picking an old scab on his wrist. Survival mode. He wondered what counted as that. What made something _danger?_ How scared did you have to be for it to hurt? 

Basira sighed. “It takes a while for him to come down, a lot of the time. You should probably head home.” 

“But—” Callum stopped himself before saying anything about his marks. That part didn’t matter anymore. “Can I just… do my homework? Like normal?”

Her brows knit. “I don’t think Danny will be up to talking before you go.”

“That’s okay.” Disappointing, yeah, but he’d live. He didn’t feel like killing time around the city for a couple hours. If late December was cold, mid-February was worse. No thanks. 

Scrutiny from Basira, but she nodded. “Fine. Don’t wander off.” 

Callum didn’t shoot something snarky back like he might have on a normal day. He wasn’t wandering any farther than the bathroom. 

It was on his way back from there that he paused, sure he caught sight of a door near the end of the hall swinging shut. Maybe that was where Danny slept, and he was going to bed down for the day. Callum wouldn’t blame him. 

Still no one in the archives beyond Callum and Basira. His only thought was to wonder if he’d bother trying to muscle through any of _Peter Pan_ before leaving, but when he got close to the usual desk, he stopped in his tracks.

While getting out and putting away his maths homework, he’d forgotten to slip his science exam back into his bag. It was in the same spot he’d left it, now angled to face someone looking from the other side. 

Something new was written on top. Short words took only a moment to decipher.

Callum decided to take a strawberry drop on his way home, too. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Going to the Institute two days in a row was kind of stupid. Callum’s mother didn’t ask where he was every day, or even _most_ days, but he knew well enough that saying he went to Tristan’s would only work for so long. 

Still, he just… He should. Today. To be sure. 

First face he saw in the archives was Danny. His eyes looked bruised with all the dark around them, but he waved as easily as ever when he noticed Callum. 

Callum pulled out his homework, answered a single question, and decided he’d had enough of that before Danny spoke past a _hello._

“Sorry if I scared you, yesterday.” His fingers hovered over his keyboard as he paused in whatever work he was doing. “I hoped that wouldn’t happen before I could explain some.”

“I wasn’t scared.” Callum turned his attention back to carefully folding the page in front of him.

“Worried you, then.”

“Wasn’t worried, neither. It was fine.”

“Oh, sure.” Some teasing bled into Danny’s voice. “And you came again today by sheer coincidence, right?”

Rather than answer, Callum took aim and flicked a freshly made ninja star at him. Didn’t quite hit its mark — this one popped Danny in the cheekbone. Danny slumped dramatically back in his chair as soon as it made contact.

Callum saw him catch Basira’s phone last week. It was a wide swing, pretty much out of nowhere, and he still got it without batting an eye. Basira knew he could catch it well enough that her throw was casual, even from across the room. 

As Danny proclaimed that _you’ve killed me, here I thought you were worried and you just charge in and kill me, looks like I can’t do any more work today, tell Basira I’m leaving her my highlighters,_ Callum sent another star flying his way. 

If Danny was going to let them hit, Callum would take the chance for something much more important than homework: target practice. 

This one caught him in the nose. _Bullseye._

  
  


* * *

  
  


It didn’t take longer than a minute for Callum to notice the new person later that week. The back office was always shut, before. Locked, lights off. Not today. 

Callum slung his bag onto the usual desk without care and turned to Danny. “Who’s the old guy?”

For a moment, Danny looked blank, then he muffled a laugh with one hand. “His name’s Jon. And he’s the same age as me.” 

“What?” Another lean to peer back into the office, and there he was, fussing around with desk drawers and muttering to himself. “He’s got grey hair. And a cane.”

“It’s the truth. He just got greys early, and the cane is for some kind of chronic pain something-or-other. I think, anyway? I haven’t asked.” Danny shrugged. “And I look a few years younger than I am ‘cause of, uh… circumstances. We’re both thirty-one.” 

Weird. “Is he new?”

Amusement couldn’t hide Danny’s tension. Did he not like this Jon guy or something? “Not new, no. He was gone for a while. In the hospital.” 

“Oh.” Whatever. He seemed boring. 

Before Callum could even sit, Jon came into the main room. Callum expected him to go on past the desks off to whatever boring business he had, but he zeroed right in on them.

“Callum? Callum Brodie?” 

What was this, roll call? “Yeah, why?”

“Why are you… here?”

“None of your business.” 

Leaned back in his chair, Danny cleared his throat. “Uh, he comes around to work on homework some days.” He ignored the glare Callum sent his way. 

Horn-rimmed glasses didn’t hide the way Jon’s eyes bounced between the pair of them. “And he just… does homework.” 

“What, you want me to start some fires, then?”

“Callum.” Danny sat forward. “Couple hours a few times a week. I figure, whatever precautions you set to keep the Dark away from him, he’s still probably safer around people who know what they’re doing. I meant to bring it up earlier when Basira was talking about the state of things, but I forgot. Sorry.”

Precautions? Huh. Callum hadn’t noticed anything different, but he supposed that might’ve been the point if they were trying to keep him out of it.

“…Yes, well.” It sounded incomplete. From the way Jon shifted back and forth where he stood, he clearly was scrounging for something to add. “Jonathan Sims.” 

“Right.” 

The air prickled with discomfort. After another wary look at them both, Jon nodded and returned to his office. 

Callum slouched in his chair. “Is he always like that?”

“What?”

“All weird.” 

Danny turned to his laptop, head propped up with a couple fingers on his temple. “He’s just out of sorts from being gone as long as he was. Getting dumped in the middle of all this takes some adjustment.”

Callum unscrewed the cap of his pen to pull out the ink cartridge and spring inside. “Why does he care why I’m here, anyway?”

“He’s the archivist, and this his archive.”

“Really?” 

“Yep.” Keys clacked away. “Basira, Melanie, me, we’re technically archival assistants.” Danny paused, considering. “At least, I’m assuming that’s what Elias put me down as. But Jon, he’s the head archivist.” 

Reassembling his pen, Callum rolled his eyes. “He’s still weird.”

“…I mean, yeah. So’s everyone who works here.” 

Callum snorted as he pulled out a couple folders. Danny wasn’t wrong. He was the weirdest of the lot, no question.

Jon’s office door opened again. “Callum?” He sounded hesitant. “Could we talk for a moment?”

“What do you want?”

Jon shifted his weight, hand flexing on his cane grip. “In my office, please.” 

Callum looked to Danny — he knew Jon better. No hesitation in Danny’s nod and low, “It’s fine.”

With a sigh, Callum stood, and just caught Jon’s eyes narrow a bit at Danny. Weird. Still, Danny said it was fine, so hopefully this wouldn’t be too annoying.

Jon’s office was a mess. Half the desk drawers stood open, contents littered on the floor like he’d been looking for something. Still, the path between the desk itself and the door was clear. 

“Please, sit.” 

Scowling and uncertain, he did. He felt like he was at the principal’s office, but with no idea what he’d even done. 

“How long have you been, er… visiting?”

“Month or so. Why do you care?”

Papers shifted as Jon fiddled with the spread across his desk. “I need to be sure that— I need to be sure. Is Danny your primary contact here?”

“I guess.” 

“Right. Right, yes.” Jon’s hands folded together, and his eyes locked on Callum. Sharp grey. “How has he… been?”

Callum’s face twisted. “Fine. Why?”

“And he hasn’t— he hasn’t been _strange,_ or— talked about strangers or strangeness or some such, or being part of a _troupe,_ or—”

“What are you talking about?” Each word had a bite to it.

Jon tugged on his sleeves, and his fingers began to drum nervously against a tape player. The already-cramped office felt like it was shrinking.

“I just… I have reason to believe that he may be playing a sort of role, right now, and I wanted to be sure nothing was— that you were alright. That he hadn’t made some attempt to rebuild the old troupe.” 

Callum could only stare. No hiding the incredulous look on his face. 

“Though I suppose I could always _ask_ him.” Jon’s voice fell to a mutter as one hand rose to fiddle with his glasses. “But if anyone would be able to dodge compulsion with half-truths, if not entirely, it would be someone of the stranger. Assuming, of course, his tie is still strong enough, but there’s no reason to doubt that, not to mention how much longer he’s been connected to his patron than I have my own. _Years_ longer.” 

No telling when the tape had started to roll. Jon didn’t even check before lifting it to his mouth. 

“What is his exact goal, if the unknowing was truly _him?_ To rebuild the troupe, or does he intend to remain singular for the time being? That doesn’t seem like the nature of a stranger, but every rule has exceptions.” One hand scrubbed across Jon’s face. “All of this assumes this isn’t just a resurgence of stranger-based paranoia, which, as unpleasant as it may be to consider, is still possible. Unless he _wants_ me to assume it’s that, but—”

“You’re mental.”

Jon startled. It was like he’d forgotten Callum was even there. “I’m sorry?” 

“Danny’s not secretly evil.” Something hot built in Callum’s throat and made his hands curl into fists. Who the hell did this guy think he was? “I don’t know what all that rubbish about strangers is, but I know you’re wrong about it. First time we met was when those flesh creature things attacked, and _he’s_ the one who told me to hide so one wouldn’t get me!”

“Be that as it may—”

“No, shut up! Danny’s not secretly evil, and he’s not got some secret evil plan. I mean, you—” Callum was standing now. He didn’t know when that happened. “Just the other day he had some kinda shutdown thing because of something bad guys did, and now you’re saying _he’s_ one — that’s _mental!”_

Jon didn’t say anything for a moment. He looked like he felt bad, but he also looked like he wasn’t going to let it go. “I’m sure he would appreciate your loyalty. If something…” He paused, choosing his words with caution. “Something _strange_ happens, I would— I would appreciate it if you told me.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Callum scoffed, and stormed out before Jon could say another word.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Another scribble. Another letter filled in at the top of the crossword his teacher thought made sense for _science_ homework. 

“Danny?”

“Hm?”

“Where’s Melanie been?”

Danny looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, sorting through a box of folders. “Oh, uh… She and Jon don’t really get on, these days.”

Another folder pulled from the box. Another added to the haphazard stack at Danny’s side after only turning a single page.

“Did he tell her _her_ friends were bad too?” Callum muttered sullenly. 

“What’s that?”

He filled the next letter before answering. “S’what Jon wanted to talk about last time. He was going on about if you’re all _strange_ or whatever, so I told him to stuff it.”

Another letter filled. Another page turned.

“Sorry about all that.”

Callum shot Danny with the same incredulous look he gave Jon. “He’s the one who should be sorry, you didn’t do nothing!”

“I know.” Danny seemed nowhere near as angry or insulted about Jon’s bollocks as he should’ve. The smile on his face was a resigned sort. “Not surprised Jon’s worried about you, though.”

Face screwed up in doubt, Callum asked, “Why?”

“‘Cause, um.” Danny cleared his throat. “He and I and a few others were in a fight against some bad folks a while back, and during all that, I pretended to side with the bad guys.” The shuffle of folders went quiet. Callum didn’t interrupt. “Just for a bit, since it meant I could get to what we needed to stop them. Jon was the only one who saw, since it was also to keep us both from getting hurt.”

“So why’s he all sure that means _you’re_ a bad guy?” No more scribbling or sorting. “You were just pretending so you guys would win.”

Danny picked at one of the lines on his hand. Scars, a ton of them. Callum hadn’t thought very hard about where they came from. It never seemed important.

“Right, but it was…” He trailed off. Not upset, Callum didn’t think. Just thoughtful. “It was complicated.” 

“What happened? With the fight, and all.”

“Uh, well.” Danny rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “You know what happened to Madame Tussauds last August?”

Callum’s jaw dropped. _“You_ blew up Madame Tussauds?!”

“…I mean, not by myself.”

“Okay, but it’s still cool,” Callum reassured.

Danny stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “Glad to hear it.”

Page turning. Pen scribbling.

“Actually,” Danny said as he lowered the folder he held. “I was going to head over there today — there’s something I’ve been trying to catch. After you finish that, do you wanna come with me?”

Callum sat bolt upright. “I’m done with it.” 

Danny didn’t reply beyond a glance to the very empty crossword puzzle, then a raised eyebrow at Callum. 

Scowl. “I’m _almost_ done.”

“Uh-huh. Make that _almost_ into a _completely,_ and we’ll head out.”

Callum had never finished his homework so fast in his life.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The wrecked walls of Madame Tussauds could still only do so much against the cold. Daylight helped. So did company.

Callum kicked a bit of concrete. “Why’s it still such a mess, anyway?” 

“Hm?” Danny didn’t look up from rummaging in his bag. 

“All the rubble and stuff. It’s all the same as when it got blown up.”

“That’s how the people we were fighting work,” Danny remarked. “Stuff gets weird, but people have a hard time noticing anything specific. Since that got so strong here, people have been looking around this place for months. It’s starting to clear, though,” he went on. “Which is why I want to catch this thing before someone who doesn’t get it quite as much does. Here.”

As he accepted the offered tins, Callum peered at their labels with brows knit. “It’s a cat, then?”

“No idea!” Danny pulled out a baggie of carrots, then another with what looked like deli meat. “So I always bring a few things.”

“Has it not eaten anything you tried yet?”

Danny snorted. “The opposite. It eats _everything.”_

Bits of paint and wallpaper clung onto the plaster that still stood. Grungy snow piled in corners. One sideways sign cheerfully informed them that the gift shop was located in the ground below their feet. 

Callum jumped as high as he could to swat at a dangling bit of wire before he prodded further. “Have you seen it?”

“Here and there.”

“How do you not know what it is, then?”

“You’ll see.”

They came into a clearing of sorts, open all the way up to the sky above. Callum hadn’t realized just how gloomy it had grown while they trekked through inside until finding the fresh spot of sunlight. 

Across the way, he saw it: the same ragged lump of fur that nearly blew his cover ages ago.

“Quiet, it’s kinda skittish.” 

Callum nodded as Danny crouched, then gestured for him to follow. 

“Pop open one of those tins. Can you get it?”

“‘Course I can get it,” Callum grumbled as he set one down so he could scrabble at the tab on top of the other. The sound of bending metal made the creature prick what Callum thought _might_ be ears. 

“See, it knows that sound now.” Danny took the can from Callum and, with a careful gesture, sent it skidding across the icy ground towards the— the _thing._

“Are you gonna be able to keep it?” Callum whispered. “Since you live at the Archives now, and Basira didn’t want—” 

His mouth snapped shut, but it was too late. Danny stared at him with a growing grin. 

“You little _sneak,_ you were here when me and Basira last checked around!” 

Callum expected irritation at the very least that he’d eavesdropped, if not outright anger, but Danny looked like he was struggling to not burst into laughter. Couldn’t scare the critter away, after all.

“G-d, that’s why you started showing up at the Institute, isn’t it?” One of Danny’s hands swept out to ruffle his hair, so Callum batted his own hands right back, trying to hold onto his scowl. “You heard Basira and I going on about what must’ve sounded completely _mental,_ and you wanted to figure out what the hell we were on about.”

“You can’t _prove_ I was there!”

“Uh, true, but saying that pretty much means you _were.”_

No argument there, so Callum stuck Danny with the meanest evil eye he could muster. It didn’t do much. 

A scuffling noise interrupted them, and Callum turned just in time to see the critter dart out of its hiding spot to the can. Light didn’t make it any easier to understand. The fur was… maybe brown? Unless it was grey, or some kind of rusty color. 

It had a head, and a tail. That was all Callum could say with any confidence. 

_Was_ that fur? 

Callum’s head hurt. No more trying to understand _that_ mess. It was just… a _thing._

At his side, Danny leaned forward. One hand tapped on the ground, the other opened the bag of carrots to send one towards the critter. It backed off a few paces as the carrot bounced on the ground to land a meter or so from the empty cat food tin, then skittered forward again. The carrot was gone in moments.

“Jeez.”

Danny nodded. “Like I said — it eats _anything.”_

Another tap, another toss. Deli meat, this time. Even closer than the carrot. It paused a second, sniffing the air (as far as Callum could tell), then zipped to the new treat.

This time, instead of tossing any food, Danny reached out and snapped quietly. The thing cocked its head and made some weird noise back. High-pitched, kind of squeaky. It definitely didn’t sound like a meow, or a bark, or anything Callum recognized. 

Callum’s friend tapped the ground more. His face was hard to make out. Was Callum just tired, and that was why everything went all weird? 

“Um.” He blinked hard, but his friend looked off, still. Unless he was making it up. Was he?

As soon as his friend looked at him, immediate realization crossed his face.

“Oh, hell. Sorry.” Just like that, the weirdness vanished, and Danny was back to the way he always was. “I wanted to try and make it feel like it could trust me some, but I don’t want you forgetting my name or something.” 

“What— What _was_ that?”

“A mistake.” Danny turned to face forward again, then tapped Callum excitedly. Even when they were talking, the thing hadn’t drawn away. It crept closer, walking on… four legs? Or was it two, and then the front two weren’t touching the ground even with how far over it was bent? Unless it wasn’t bent over at all, and Callum was seeing it all wrong. 

It made no sense. Callum loved it. 

Danny extended his hand back out, brushing the pads of his fingertips together before spreading them open again. The creature shuffled forwards a few more steps, snuffling audibly, before turning its head into his touch. Danny’s fingers carded through its feathers or fur or _whatever_ as he nudged Callum with an elbow. 

“Come on, come on.” His voice was soft. “Just put your hand out flat like I did, okay?”

Nodding, Callum did as instructed. Its whiskers tickled over his palm as it sniffed at him, then vanished as it headbutted his hand the exact same way his grandmother’s cats did. He couldn’t crush down a grin as he carefully scratched around what he assumed were its ears. Whatever noise it made at that certainly wasn’t _purring,_ but Callum was pretty sure he understood. His grin grew when it shuffled closer to rub against his leg where he was crouched. 

Rather than headbutt him again, it repeated the motion on the remaining tin of cat food. Danny nodded when Callum looked up in question, so after another round of struggling with the tab, Callum set down the fresh tin. 

Gone in seconds. Wicked.

It didn’t take long to get through the rest of the food they’d brought, and the thing never once slowed in eating. It was like a black hole — it even made a bid for one of Callum’s gloves until he pulled them off and shoved them deeper in his pocket. The fact that he hadn’t lost this pair yet was kind of a miracle, but he didn’t think his mother would buy, _eaten by a weird wax museum animal that might be a cat or a dog or a rat or something_ as an explanation for this pair. 

Speaking of his mother. “I should probably head home.” He wiped his nose on his coat sleeve, doing his best not to disturb the critter from its place settled in his lap. He didn’t want to move when it looked so comfortable, but if he was out too late his stepfather would be mad. 

“Sure thing. I’d ask if you know how to get there from here, but considering you’ve been here before—”

Callum shoved at his shoulder for the teasing notes in his voice, and Danny laughed. 

“Come on, then.” Danny lifted the thing from its perch despite its fresh round of squeaking, then held out a hand to Callum and helped tug him to his feet. Now that he’d thought about them more directly, there was no missing the striped scars on his palm.

As they walked to the tube station, Danny bumped Callum. “Gonna need you to think hard about what we name this thing.” It was curled against Danny’s chest now, with its paws wrapped around the fingers of that hand. Paws, unless they were talons, unless they were claws. Its eyes were round and dark, Callum was certain of that, and its whiskers twitched without stopping once. 

“Killer.”

“We’ll chalk that up under _maybe.”_

“Shredder.” 

“Pass.”

Callum shot him a look. “Sorry, you should’ve said you wanted _boring_ names.”

“Yeah, yeah. Try some _variety,_ get your school friends in on it.”

School friends. Sure. Callum rolled his eyes and bounded down the station steps, but in moments burst halfway back up again.

_“Deathclaw!”_

“Absolutely—”

_“Yes!”_

“—not!”

No ninja stars. Callum made do with a grimy snowball that Danny batted away before it could get anywhere near him.

Despite the attack, Danny was smiling. Despite the rejections, Callum was too. 

He raced off back down the stairs before Danny could see. No reason to let him win. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


It was kind of impressive how much the archives crew could fit in a minifridge. Just as much as what was in the fridge at home, by Callum’s estimate. Not much of a feat, but still. 

_“It’s on the Lukas family tab,”_ Melanie had mentioned on one of her less sharp days. _“You want something, put it on the sticky note on top.”_

Callum didn’t know or care who the Lukas family was — what mattered was the collection of orange juice boxes tucked on one shelf. Score. 

He knocked the fridge door shut with one heel and turned from its place tucked by the stairs, then made his way for the archives. Maybe one of the others would have ideas for what to do for a history project he got earlier that day. 

A few feet away, he caught some weird sounds from inside. Yelling, it sounded like. Callum opted to peer through the door window rather than go in.

Hey, Melanie was here. Danny, too. 

Hm. He should probably get Basira.

Her office door was unlocked. Callum took a drink from the juice box as he waited for her to notice him.

It didn’t take long. She looked up from her computer, went back to it, then looked up again when she actually registered who was there. 

“Do you need something?”

Callum pulled the straw from his mouth. “Melanie’s trying to kill Danny with a knife.”

Slow blink. “Why?”

He shrugged, loose enough his free hand bounced against his leg. 

Another beat of silence, then Basira shoved herself back from her desk and rushed into the hall with Callum trailing behind.

Shouting spilled into the hall as soon as the door opened. Basira had to shout herself to get her own voice over it. Her arm stayed held out in front of Callum.

“What the hell is— You said you were going to _talk_ to her!”

“I am!” Danny sounded far less worried than Callum thought he probably should. “If you didn’t expect her to—” He leapt to the side to dodge a slash, Melanie yelling the whole while. “—to _argue,_ don’t know what you _did_ expect.”

“Stop _moving!”_

“You did tell her she could stab you after she stabbed the flesh things,” Callum called helpfully. 

“I sure did—” Duck, roll, pop to his feet. “—thank you, Callum.”

“I’m going to—” Slash. “— _kill you!”_

“So you’ve said!”

A downward stab had Danny’s hands flying up to catch Melanie’s wrists. He still didn’t look too concerned. “Gonna need you both to leave, you’re not—” 

Melanie looked skinny, but she must’ve been strong. Rather than keep trying to hold her back, Danny redirected the knife to over his shoulder and slipped out of their lock as it buried into the desk behind him. 

“—not as fast as me, and she might feel bad if she stabs you.”

The knife pulled free as Melanie whirled on Danny with a wordless scream of frustration. 

Jon chose then to slip out of the back office with his laptop clutched to his chest. He skittered along the far wall as he made a bid for the door to the hall. As far as Callum could tell, Danny didn’t look at Jon’s door or at Jon himself when he skirted around past Melanie’s back, but there was no way his taunt of, “I think you’re slowing down, Mel! Tired already?” was anything but a way to keep her attention on him. 

Basira had pushed Callum back a little, but she had yet to leave. Probably wanted to make sure Jon got out, first. 

How worried was Callum supposed to be, here? When the flesh things attacked, Melanie had shown she could be really, really dangerous, but Danny was plenty dangerous then too. He didn’t look scared at all. Jon was anxious, Callum could tell from here, but he always seemed anxious. Basira was too hard to read for Callum to get anything from her. 

Somehow, the knock of Jon’s cane against one desk sounded louder than any of the shouts, and Melanie whirled on him. 

_“You—”_

Before she could lunge forward, Danny collided with her from behind, pinning her arms against her chest with his own and locking his hands around her wrists.

“Jon, _go!”_

He didn’t need to be told twice. As Danny did his best to contain Melanie’s thrashing, Jon stopped trying to sneak and hurried as fast as his cane would let him. 

_“Let go—”_ Attempts to stomp on Danny’s feet. _“—of me!”_

“If you weren’t hellbent on— _ow—_ on _murder,_ I might!”

_“Let go!”_

As soon as he was in arm’s reach, Basira yanked Jon into the hall to stand behind her with Callum. 

“Do need me to—”

Danny didn’t let Basira finish. “I _need_ all of you to get out of here!”

No reply after that. As soon as Basira shut the door, Callum caught sight of Danny releasing Melanie, then immediately backing _way_ up to avoid the slash of her knife right where his chest was three seconds ago. 

Callum sipped his juice box. “So, um. What?”

Sighing, Jon nudged his glasses up to rub his eyes with one hand as he leaned against the wall. He looked tired. “Melanie got shot a while back. By a ghost. And now she’s affiliated with the slaughter.” 

Another sip. The box was nearly empty at this point. “If that was supposed to explain, it didn’t.” 

“She got shot by a ghost in India,” Basira said. “And the ghost bullet linked her with something that makes her angry all the time. More violent, too. Jon figured it out when he got back, and Danny wanted to talk to her about taking it out.”

“And that made her this mad?”

“Most things do.” 

“I maintain that it would’ve been simpler to remove it ourselves,” Jon grumbled. 

“If she doesn’t agree to do it Danny’s way, we move to step two.” 

Callum’s brow furrowed. “Danny’s way?”

Basira nodded. “Apparently, a… _friend_ of his should be able to pull the thing out without surgery.”

“We _hope,”_ Jon cut in as they started to head towards Basira’s office. 

“You’re the one who said the Michael version could pull worms out of people.”

“Even if it agrees, we have no way to be _sure_ it will, or if it starts to but then just— just _kills_ Melanie for the fun of it, or—”

“We deal with that when we get there. Conversation first. If you’re still not sold on Helen, we might do it your way. Danny seemed pretty sure he could get through to her about taking it out at all. Since he _gets what it’s like to want it there_ or whatever he said.”

If either of them could answer one question with something that made _sense,_ Callum would appreciate that. _One._

Before he could complain, a sound came from further down the hall. Familiar squeaking. Callum crouched just in time to catch Danny’s critter as it scuttled up and leapt for him. 

“Hi, Killer,” he said as he stood again. Danny couldn’t say it wasn’t the right name if he was busy not getting stabbed. Ha. 

It squealed at him as it shifted, then made a go at his juice box. Callum shoved the box in his hoodie pocket before it could eat the straw or something. 

Basira shook her head as she settled at her desk again. “G-d, that thing sounds like a porcupine.” 

“It looks like a pangolin, for the most part.” 

Callum shot a quizzical stare at Jon as it wrapped its tail firmly around his arm and dropped to hang from it, stretching its front paws-or-claws-or-talons towards the ground. “A penguin?”

“No, _pangolin,_ like…” Jon sat at the chair by Basira’s desk, then opened his laptop. In seconds he had a picture pulled up of some weird creature all hunched over, with a pointed face and big claws. 

Callum squinted at the screen. “That’s got scales. This doesn’t.” He didn’t think, anyway. Could be wrong.

“Well, it’s not going to fit much in the way of known species.”

Basira looked thoughtful. “I thought it was just a really messed-up rat.”

“It might’ve been, at one point,” Jon replied. “What did you call it?”

“Killer.”

Jon’s head cocked. “Is that what its name is?” Callum nodded firmly.

“Huh.” Basira didn’t look up from her laptop. “I’ve been calling it Pencil. What did Melanie say before? Doctor Bastard?”

“Professor Bastard, I believe it was,” Jon answered. Callum couldn’t help snickering. If she didn’t kill Danny, that name could be included, too. 

Callum sat on the floor, wiggling his fingers for the critter to bat around. “What about you?”

“Oh, I thought the name Ostrom suited it.” At Callum’s confused stare, Jon explained, “John Ostrom was a paleontologist who revolutionized the field through his certainty of a much stronger link between dinosaurs and modern birds than most at the time believed — a stronger link between them than between dinosaurs and lizards, even. I thought of him because of how it blurs the line between known animals, though the stranger is more to blame than the evolutionary process and flawed human understanding when it comes to fossils.” 

Callum blinked. Sounded like nerd stuff to him. 

Jon coughed and adjusted his glasses. “It seemed apt.”

From the other side of the desk, Basira snorted. “You’ll probably have to look somewhere else for a student, Jon.” 

It was easy to tune out their bickering, but Callum wouldn’t have minded it either way. Neither ever sounded actually mad. Basira would get dry, Jon would get all flustered, but never _angry._ There were worse things to use as background noise. 

The critter ate one of his pencils as easy as it did a carrot. Jon promised to watch out in case it got sick. 

When Callum went to leave a couple hours later with a few more paleontologist names for his history project, he paused to check the archives again. Danny and Melanie were both sitting on the floor against the front of one desk. Danny had a long scratch on one cheek. Melanie was talking with big, fierce gestures, but her knife was on the ground next to her. She looked like she might cry if she wasn’t so angry. Callum understood that. 

Danny winked when he noticed Callum, so Callum crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. He watched Danny muffle a laugh, then had to duck when Melanie started to turn around. No reason to get her back in knife murder mode. 

Maybe, before whoever Helen or Michael or whatever helped with the ghost bullet thing, she could teach him some tricks. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Callum tried not to be disappointed by the clink of metal against the usual desk. 

“Careful,” Melanie said when he picked up the bullet. “It’s full of murder ghost magic.”

He shrugged. “Looks like a regular bullet to me.”

“Not regular enough to show up on a CAT scan.”

“Can I keep it?”

“No,” Basira called from a desk across the room. Probably wanted to hang around some to make sure Melanie wasn’t quite so murder-y anymore.

“But—”

“No.” 

_“Ugh.”_

“Sorry, kid,” Danny said. He had that same weird tension he did when Callum first asked about Jon. “Next dangerous murder artifact is all yours.” 

Melanie snatched up the bullet to throw it at him, though she didn’t seem too bothered when he caught it with ease. “Don’t say that when we might actually _find_ one.”

Danny’s laugh was a short, brittle thing as he went back to tucking his things in his bag. Callum spun in his chair before asking, “Where are you headed?”

“Home, for the day.”

A drag of Callum’s feet against the floor stopped the next spin. “I thought you stayed here at night.” 

“Usually do, but, uh…” Danny tried for a smile. “Jon’s back, so we might have some other arrivals. Just want to be ready, in case he goes home first. See you soon, yeah?”

Before Callum could ask who Danny meant by _he,_ Danny rushed out the door. Callum barely caught his call of, “Come on, Honey,” and a telltale squeaking reply. 

Callum was left blinking in confusion at his desk. He’d never seen Danny so agitated before. 

“What’s he on about?” Jon wasn’t in the main room, Basira paid no attention to them while she read. The only one for him to direct the question to was Melanie. 

Melanie sighed and dropped into Danny’s chair, then kicked her feet up onto the desk. One hand toyed with the bullet he’d left behind. 

“His brother died last year.”

“At that big fight at Madame Tussauds?”

Melanie nodded. “Yep. Danny thought it’d take _him_ out, but his brother was pretty sure that wouldn’t be how it went. Tim was the right one, in the end.”

“And that’s who Danny thinks is gonna come back.”

“Right.”

“So he’s just— what, mental?”

“You’ve been around here plenty. You know weird stuff can happen.” The bullet flew up in the air, then back into Melanie’s hands. She tossed and caught it a few times before continuing, “Someone coming back as a ghost or something wouldn’t even be the weirdest thing I’ve seen.” 

Callum did want to know more about Danny’s brother and potential ghosts, but he had to ask. “What’s the weirdest?”

She held one finger in the air. “First, weirdest does not equal spookiest. This is purely _weirdest.”_ Another finger joined the first. “Second, no, I’m not going to let you see it.”

“Mean.”

“Cry about it,” she replied flatly. “Anyway. Saw it when I was getting that knife I used against Jared and the other flesh things: there’s a jar in artifact storage, right, some old mason jar.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Inside that? Human heart. _Still beating.”_

Callum drew back as he crushed down an excited, grossed-out grin. “No way.”

“Hand to G-d.” Toss, catch. “So, a Ghost Tim might be weird, but not as weird as watching a heart beat in a jar.” 

“…Can I _please_ see—”

“No.”

Melanie and Callum turned to face Basira with matching expressions of surprise at her interjection. She didn’t look up from her book. 

Callum figured he was safe to stick his tongue out at her. Moral victory. 

“But… it’s possible? That his brother’ll come back, I mean.”

Melanie sighed. “Danny thinks so. Pretty sure Tim thought so, too.”

It wasn’t an answer. Callum spun again in his chair. “But will he?”

Toss, catch. “It wasn’t too long after it all happened that he explained why he thought so, brought out his evidence and everything.” Toss, catch. “Basira and Martin don’t buy it. Same with Georgie.”

“Georgie?”

“Another friend of ours,” Melanie explained. “I’m sure he gave Jon the full rundown, but frankly, I could give a rat’s ass about Jon’s conclusion.” 

Humor only lasted long enough for Callum to snort. “So none of them believe him.”

“Not really. Basira thinks it’s wishful thinking, and Georgie’s pretty sure dead things should stay dead.” Basira didn’t stir at the sound of her name. “I think Martin just doesn’t want to get his hopes up.” 

“…What about you?”

Another sigh, another toss. Metal clattered against wood when Melanie made no attempt to catch it. “His evidence makes sense.”

Quiet. She looked thoughtful, so Callum waited. 

“I think he’s got as much of a chance there as he does of convincing me of distortion-based pseudosurgery.” The sentence had veered into complete nonsense to Callum, but he didn’t really care. Probably had something to do with Danny’s plan with Helen or Michael or whoever. Maybe. “So, slim.”

“But not none.”

Melanie held the bullet at eye level between her finger and thumb as if to study it more closely. She didn’t say anything for another long moment. 

“No.” Callum couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “Not none.”

Not ten minutes later, Jon rushed so quickly out of his office that he almost tripped. Basira didn’t look up from her book. Callum was glad for the distraction from his own. 

He let _Peter Pan_ slip shut. “S’going on?” Melanie merely shot Jon a raised eyebrow. 

“Callum, yes, hello, um— Is— Is Danny still here?”

“Just left.” 

Jon turned to Melanie. “You may want to text him, o-or call. I imagine he’ll want to be here for this, or—”

“Slow down.” Jon’s scattered words were enough to alert Basira that something was going on, and she slipped a bookmark between the pages as she scanned him. “What’s got you worked up?”

Ever since he rushed in, Jon kept glancing at Callum, and Callum could feel anxiety pool like icy water in his stomach. Had he done something?

“I just… I think it’d be best if we— we waited for the whole group, or—” His free hand fluttered around like a nervous bird. “I could always be wrong, but generally the _eye_ isn’t, though this _is_ to do with the dark, and—”

“Spit it out,” Melanie interrupted.

The feeling of icy water inside Callum multiplied until it all froze into a hard pit. Was the basement always this cold?

Knuckles white around the grip of his cane, Jon took a breath, then another. 

“Callum, you— When you were taken by the People’s Church, you encountered a piece of the Dark there, yes?” 

Callum was starting to pick up on the weird emphasis everyone here gave some things, like _Dark_ and _Eye_ and _Flesh_ were specific _names_ rather than regular objects. As far as _Dark_ went, he had no trouble believing that. 

He could only make himself nod. Basira’s eyes were narrow as she listened. Melanie rolled the bullet between her fingers, tense. 

“And it… covered you. To a certain extent.”

Another nod. The cold crept up into his chest, just like the shadows did back then. Callum’s fingers dug into his arms as he folded them. 

Relief hit like a train when the archives door opened again to show Danny. Melanie must have texted like Jon asked. 

He registered the tension in the room immediately. “Jon, what’s—”

“Oh, good— good, yes.” Jon nodded to himself as he rocked a bit where he stood. “The Eye, i-it— well, it didn’t so much as _tell_ me as it did show _negative space,_ which is to be expected with the Dark, but—”

“The _point,_ Jon,” Basira cut in. 

Danny went to lean against his own desk and gave Callum a quick scan while Jon gathered his thoughts once more. Callum couldn’t unlock his arms from their tight fold together. Cold crept up to his neck. 

“Basira, what happened at the very end of your mission against Rayner and the rest?” At least he’d asked her instead of Callum. “Right when you shot him, I mean.”

“All the dark stuff dropped off Callum. It was still coming out of Rayner, but it didn’t do anything else, except when a few drops hit Altman.” 

A few drops sent a grown adult screaming to the floor. Callum was in it up to his chest. 

He didn’t like thinking about it very much. 

Jon said nothing for a long moment. Danny didn’t let it last. “What are you getting at?”

“All the dark that the light touched dropped off. It died in the light.”

“Meaning?” Basira’s voice was clipped. Callum could feel ice water filling his mouth and nose and skull and everywhere. 

“Think about the nature of shadows. You turn the lights on and yes, the room is lit, but your body, your clothes — they block it. There’s still places that the light doesn’t hit.” 

At last, Jon met Callum's eyes. Jon's own were as sad as they were certain. 

“Maxwell Rayner is dead. The Dark is not. It never was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: implied/referenced child abuse, a brief/outsider pov of a panic attack 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: as far as basira as a character and her role in the story go, i want to make one thing clear: _none of this is ever meant to be a glorification, softening, or redemption._ i’m very vocal on my tumblr that while i like her as a character a lot, she isn’t a good person and has done many, many bad things. that said, all callum knows is her actions here and her saving him from rayner -- he doesn’t know basira’s history or anything at all about daisy. i say that now to clarify that just like in canon, the fact that she cares about his safety and wants to help him doesn’t outweigh any of that. i do intend to make that as clear as i can despite the limits of callum’s pov, but i wanted to make sure i said it 100% flat out too!
> 
> anyway i hope you all like professor ostrom pencilkiller as much as i do bc it was VERY fun to design and by design i mean keep as far away from actually describing beyond vague bullshit as possible 
> 
> on the horizon: lifeboats, and when they're lacked


	4. Lqui'i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[Moqoit]_ Translated as “image-soul,” the forms of celestial beings made by bright phenomena in the sky — shooting stars, etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've had some bits of this one written since before ch1 so i'm VERY glad to be here gjkdfhgk it gets bumpy gang hold on tight. cws in the end note!
> 
> suggested listening: hyper dark by sleigh bells

“And you’re _sure_ about this.”

“As sure as we can be with this stuff.”

It didn’t look like Callum’s mother took much comfort in that. She’d been relieved to see someone she already knew here, but it wasn’t as if she and Basira were close. Callum didn’t think she would’ve taken it well from anyone. She ran a hand over Callum’s head thoughtlessly, staring a hole into the top of Jon’s desk. 

“How much were you told about the People’s Church?” Jon asked.

Callum’s mother sighed. “Just that it all had something to do with darkness, and that there was something unnatural about it. _Supernatural,_ I guess. I didn’t even know that was the _name_ of the thing until today.”

“It was sectioned,” Basira said. Jon nodded like that explained it. 

“Mrs. Brodie—”

“Caroline, please.”

“Caroline, then.” Jon shifted in his chair, resettling. “Would you like us to wait for your husband before—”

“No, no.” Callum swallowed relief at her reply. “He works tonight, so he needs the sleep now. I haven’t called him.” 

Danny wore the same face he did when he asked Callum why he came to the Institute so much. He didn’t interrupt. 

Callum’s mother rubbed her eyes with the hand not set against his hair. He’d only recently started to notice that she was a bit younger than some of his classmates’ mothers, but the bags under her eyes were dark enough to match any of them. Wishing the others had listened when he said they didn’t need to call her was a waste of time when it was over and done with, but he wished anyway. 

She didn’t have the energy to ask about school or his day very much. Making her come all the way to the Institute rubbed something in Callum the wrong way. Nothing he could do about it now. 

“Can you take me through it again?” Tired as ever. Something cold squirmed in Callum’s belly.

Jon cleared his throat. “The People’s Church is a group that—”

“Worships darkness or something, yes, but the part with _Callum.”_

“They had something that was a kind of solid darkness.” Basira kept her voice neutral. “Part of that stuck with Callum, and it’s hung around up to now. We didn’t know until today, but we’re going to do what we can to fix it.” 

“Until then, him spending the time he does here means we can keep an eye on it,” Danny added. 

His mother’s mouth was tight, but she nodded. Tension knotted her shoulders to curl in. “And you can help him.”

“We’ll do everything we can.” Jon did his best to sound firm even as he tugged on his sleeves. 

Danny scooted forward in his chair a bit. “Definitely keep up whatever therapy he’s already in, but I also—” He paused as if deciding how to phrase it. “I’m guessing the more supernatural side is a little bit out of your average therapist’s wheelhouse, yeah? I’m not any sort of counselor, but I went through something pretty similar to Callum. Being around more people he knows will believe him is always good, and he’s got someone who gets it a little more, if that makes sense.”

Callum’s mother nodded again. She didn’t say anything about Danny assuming Callum had a therapist. 

He did have one, for a bit. Stuffy prat who always talked down to him. Callum hated the man. The fights he and his stepfather would get in every time they tried to drag Callum there were nightmares. Not worth keeping to in the end, and Callum didn’t think was missing out. He didn’t need it. It wasn’t like he was _crazy._

The hand dropped away from his head. “Angel, go on and wait out in the other room, okay? I’m going to talk with them for a bit.” 

“But—” That was stupid. They were already talking like he wasn’t there, so what did him sticking around matter? 

His mother slowly shook her head with eyes shut before he could get out more than one word. “Not today, honey, please.” Said on a sigh. 

He didn’t argue. Arguing with his mother never did anything but bring more of that gross squirming feeling in his stomach. 

It wasn’t until he was already on his feet that a new, awful possibility hit. With his back to the desk and eyes on the floor, he mumbled, “Mum, I— I can come back, right? To the Institute?”

No immediate answer. Squirming turned into rocks. 

“That’s what we’re going to talk about.” 

Callum’s head flew up as his throat tightened. “Everyone here’s nice, Mum, seriously, and—”

“Callum.” His mother pushed on a thin smile. “If they’re nice then I’m sure it’ll be fine, but I need to talk to them first.”

He wanted to argue more. It wouldn’t change anything.

Before the door to Jon’s office clicked shut, Callum caught a brief thumbs up from Danny. Better than nothing. 

What followed was the longest half hour of Callum’s life. No sign of Melanie was, so no entertainment there, and he couldn’t hear Professor Pencil. Nobody here but Callum.

They took all the desk chairs into Jon’s office. He sat on the floor. 

Then laid on the floor. Then walked a circuit around the archives. Then laid on the floor again. Left to get a juice box. Back to the floor. 

Was it possible to die of boredom? If he died here, would he be a ghost? Or were zombies also a thing? Vampires were way different, so how different would zombies be? Did they still want brains? Danny didn’t say vampires went after anything _but_ blood, so that was probably the same for zombies. Brains, but maybe less shambling. Or more. 

He was going to die, was the point. 

After a century-long thirty minutes, the door opened again. Callum sat bolt upright as his mother left the office, followed by Danny, Basira, and Jon. 

None looked super upset, at least. Tired, the whole lot of them, but if everything was bad and Callum couldn’t come back anymore, he’d be able to tell from their faces. Unless he couldn’t. 

No point in getting all twisted up when he could just ask. He scrambled to his feet, anxiety lifting him up like a balloon, and bounced on his toes a couple of times. 

“Can I—”

“Yes, you can come here after school,” his mother answered before Callum got more than two words of the question out. “You’d be out in the city by yourself otherwise.” 

Said like she was letting him win a fight. Relief couldn’t quite cover something that might’ve been guilt. Still, he hugged her, short but tight. 

She hummed, nails scratching gently on his back before he let go. “Come on, I want to be home before your dad gets up for work.”

“‘Kay.” Nothing worth rushing for, in his mind. “Bye, guys.”

“Safe travels home,” Jon said. Basira waved absently as she rifled through a box of files on a nearby desk. From his place leaned against the front of it, Danny lifted one hard to mirror her wave with his arms still folded. 

“See you soon.”

_Soon._ Callum could come back. He didn’t lose the whole place for good. He didn’t ruin it. 

The wind outside was cold enough to suck the air from Callum’s chest for a moment. With his eyes squinted against the snow, he nearly ran right into a man smoking a cigar just outside the Institute. 

“Careful, Callum,” his mother sighed as she steered him around. “Sorry about him.”

The man said something Callum didn’t pay any attention to, too busy struggling to pull his gloves on. Should’ve done that before they left the building, but he forgot. Done now. 

After what felt like _another_ century, they took shelter in a tube station. Callum blinked the snowflakes from his eyelashes. 

“Are you gonna tell Dad?”

“…I don’t know.” His mother rubbed one eye with the heel of her hand. “I don’t know. Not tonight.”

No way Callum’s stepfather would let him go back. As soon as he found out, he’d cut it off. His mother had to know that. 

“I _have_ to be there some, though, and Dad— He thinks it’s all crackpots and fake stuff, but if the Dark is still— still _around,_ then—”

“I said I wouldn’t tonight, Callum.” She checked the time on her phone. “I need to think about it all more.”

Silence for a minute, broken only by the rumble of trains. 

“…Do _you_ think it’s fake?”

The answer wasn’t written on her folded hands. She stared at them like she thought she might find it there anyway. “I don’t know about that, either. They didn’t say much about _why_ they believe all this.”

“I think Jon just… knows stuff, sometimes.” It sounded that way when he was explaining all this to Callum and the others, at any rate. 

“I just— It’s hard to take something like this on faith, honey.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close to her side. “But I want you to be safe, and if it _is_ real, that means we need to fix it. I don’t know if they’re right or wrong with all this, but they seem like they want to help.” 

Callum chewed a hangnail. “Danny’s cool, and Melanie.” Cool now that she wasn’t trying to murder people as much. He didn’t think he should mention that part. “Basira’s alright.” Kind of bossy. “Jon’s weird, but he’s okay.” Bad Danny opinions. Good paleontologist opinions. 

“Must have made an impact, hm?” His mother smiled a little. “If you’re not just saying they’re all boring.”

Shrugging, he wiggled free of her hold. “They’re fine, I guess.” 

“You guess.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, with a review like that, they must be something.” 

There was a shift in the air as they boarded, one that took the good mood between them with it. Some change in how his mother held herself, maybe. Seats available, so Callum scooted in close to a window.

“I might have to tell your dad, honey. This is— It’s a lot, and I don’t know if I’d feel right keeping it from him. He wants you safe, too.”

No point in arguing. With his cheek against the glass, he mumbled, “Fine,” and shrugged off the hand that tried to settle on his shoulder.

Part of Callum had assumed he’d be able to keep all this hidden for however long he continued to visit the Institute. Keep his parents from ever knowing. Looking back, it was stupid. He could at least be glad that it was his mother who found out first. 

Any visit might be his last, now. Callum didn’t think the icy twist inside him at that thought had anything to do with the Dark. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


This was bad. This was very bad. It had to be wrong. Callum’s head hurt as he stared wide-eyed at the page. Compared notes. It _had_ to be wrong.

The answer at the back of his maths textbook didn’t change. Neither did the one on his notebook. Looking in confusion back and forth didn’t make them suddenly match. 

Only thing for it was to try again. This time, he got a different answer — still wrong. Again, and he got the same answer he did the first time. 

It didn’t make sense. He was _good_ at maths. 

One of Callum’s hands knotted in his hair, and the other squeezed his pencil tight. He worked through the problem _again._ Each number carved into the page with how hard he pressed in as he wrote.  
  


Wrong again. 

A loud thunk echoed in the archives as Callum’s head collided with the desk, followed by an even louder groan. 

“Danny!” Melanie’s voice. “I think Callum’s dying.”

Still facedown, Callum groaned, “I’m _already_ dead.”

He could hear Danny laugh from somewhere further between the shelves. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m fresh out of resurrection magic.” His voice dropped strangely at the end. Callum looked up just in time to see Melanie wince. 

When Danny came out to set a stack of folders and tapes on his desk, Callum scrutinized him. He couldn’t tell if any of that tension he noticed before was hanging around. If bringing up resurrection kicked off any of that, Danny hid it well enough. 

“What’s the issue?”

“Maths. I keep getting this one wrong, but I don’t know where the mess up is.” 

Danny brightened. “Oh, brilliant. That’s pretty much the only thing I’d be any help with.”

“Really?” No hiding his doubt.

“ADHD and school was never a great mix for me. I still have _no_ idea how Tim made it work.” A couple tugs brought Danny’s desk chair over near Callum. “Maths always clicked, though.”

“Nerd.”

Danny snatched one of Callum’s ninja stars and attempted to throw it at Melanie, but it caught wrong in the air and veered hard, landing a good three meters from her desk. She stared at it, then looked up at Danny with no expression on her face. Somehow, the flatness there carried pure disdain.

Rolling his eyes, Danny turned back to the textbook. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.”

“I think I’m doing it right, but the odd number answers are in the back of the book, and it’s got something different there.”

Danny tugged the book over and scanned it. Scanned it again, squinting. “Uh.” He flipped back a few pages to the explanation, then between it and the problem. Again. A third time.

“What?” 

Another look back, forth. “I think my, uh, _old job_ went and… rewired some things.”

A short, sharp laugh burst from Melanie. “Are you saying Nikola just _ate_ your maths skills?”

“I— I think that’s exactly what I’m saying.” He sat upright with a thousand-yard stare. “I don’t… _What?”_ Glared back at the page. “It says words. I know it says words. Then I try to make it all mean something and it just… doesn’t.”

Callum had no idea what he was talking about in the _slightest,_ but the despondent look on Danny’s face made him laugh anyway. “Guess you gotta come to maths class with me.”

Danny slumped back in his chair, hands flying up in some kind of appeal. “Sold my logic brain to the circus, and all I got was this lousy trauma.”

Before Callum could ask what the hell _any_ of that meant, the archive door flew open. 

“Basira, how are you at—” Danny’s question died in his throat as Basira came in. Her face was stone. Solid, unmoving anger.

Melanie uncurled herself from her chair, brows knit and eyes wide. “Did something happen?”

In a few sharp strides, Basira reached her desk and tossed down a scrap of paper. Reading it made Melanie’s eyes widen more. 

Danny pushed himself up to stand. “What is it?”

Rather than lean forward to hand it off, Melanie simply held up the page. Three words. 

“What’s it say?” Reading cursive was a nightmare for Callum, and the distance didn’t help.

_“Bell the Second,”_ Danny answered. His voice was grim. “Where was this?”

“I got a call,” Basira said, teeth gritted. “From Abney Park Cemetery. Someone busted up my parents’ headstones. Get there, and what’s in the grass right in front?”

Melanie studied the page again. “Whoever did it left this for you?”

“Used a chunk of my dad’s as a g-ddamn paperweight.” 

Callum didn’t blink at the curse. She looked so pissed off, it wasn’t a surprise. “What’s it mean?”

“I don’t know.” Basira took the note back from Melanie, glaring down at it as if it might have more hidden past the scrawl. “But I don’t think it’s a mistake that the first one showed up at my old precinct.” 

Danny straightened. “You think this person’s targeting you.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I think you’re probably on the ball, there.” Danny’s eyes narrowed. “This is the second in the count. Probably has some sort of target number in mind.”

“Plus whatever the thing with _bells_ is,” Melanie added. “But Christ knows where that goes.” 

Danny held up his phone. “Searching _bell the first_ just gets me some book, but I can try and poke around and see if it's relevant.”

“I’ll take the book,” Basira asserted “Send me the title.”

Callum slipped from his chair, textbook and notebook both in hand. “Gonna ask Rosie for help with this, ‘kay?”

“Sure thing.” Danny looked back at the others. “What’s the security at this place like?” 

Melanie cut in with a different question. “Should we even bother filing a police report?”

“Considering the first one was definitely supernatural, there’s not much point in that.” Basira’s voice was too tense to count as a sigh. “Any help will be sectioned to hell and back, and they don’t exactly come running when the Institute calls.”

“Damn. No cops. Heartbreaking,” Danny monotoned. Melanie raised her coffee cup in cheers. 

Callum snickered as he slipped out the door. He was just fine with no cops hanging around. They usually didn’t bother him much, unless he left the house late at night. That’s when one or two would swoop in, trying to act all well-meaning, until they’d ask if his parents knew he was out. 

He was only dumb enough to get in a car with one once. Drove him right home and knocked on the door with their prize like they were a housecat and he was a dead mouse. Callum was pretty sure his stepfather would have taken the mouse better. 

Rosie was on the phone when Callum got to the lobby, and he hesitated. She had other work to do, of course. No reason to interrupt just for homework. He didn’t know why he’d thought going to her made sense, not when it seemed like she never stopped working. He could figure it out by himself.

“Need something, dear?”

Callum jumped. He hadn’t even noticed her hang up. “Oh, uh… Do you— Are you any good at maths? I got stuck, but Danny said he, um, _sold his logic brain at the circus._ So.”

“I… see.” Rosie adjusted her glasses, rustling the thin chain that fell from each corner. “Well, I can promise you I haven’t done the same. Come on, bring it over.” 

She cleared a space on her desk among neat stacks of paper and a wide desk calendar. Still hesitating, Callum set his textbook down. The cord on his hoodie was fraying already, but he fiddled more with it anyway.

“It’s this one. The answer’s in the back, but I keep getting the wrong one. Dunno why.” 

Rosie looked over the page, though she cut it with a quick smile at him. “I would have thought a boy your age would just take the answer from the back and skip the work.” 

“If it was history or somethin’, maybe, but I like maths.” Numbers stayed where they were supposed to, usually. 

“Good. Keep that.” Her voice was warm. “Now, let’s see what we have here…”

It wasn’t a fast process — Rosie readily admitted it’d been a while since she was in a maths class herself, but after looking over the textbook explanation a few pages back, she was able to pick it back up. They tackled the problem together and found that Callum had accidentally swapped a couple of values without even realizing.

Word problems. Ugh. The whole point of maths was the _numbers,_ and then they had to come and put a paragraph in the middle of all the other problems. Sod off.

He did the next on his own. Without an answer in the back to check his work against, Rosie made her own efforts to solve it. This time, it was Callum who noticed an error in _her_ work, and showed her the correct version on his page. 

He accused her of making the mistake on purpose to see if he would catch it. She assured him she had no idea what he meant, and did he want a Simpkins before he went back down to the archives?

No going so fast he flew, today. It was only because of that little bit more time descending and little bit less noise on the stairs that he caught the sound of his name.

What else was there to do but eavesdrop?

“…Callum’s mum while she was here, but since you’re finished with that statement, I was wondering.” Danny. “I was going through some Dark-related statements to find what I could about that sort of solid darkness you guys were talking about, and this one mentioned how the statement giver just… got some on his foot, and that’s what sent this monster made of it after him.”

A monster _made_ of the stuff? Creepy.

“Caroline didn’t seem like she knew about that part, so what did you all do to keep things like this from tailing Callum? Since she didn’t have any idea.” 

Right, the precautions Danny had mentioned a while back. Callum couldn’t deny some curiosity. 

Melanie’s voice was hard to make out, but Callum thought she said, “Is that… Benjamin Hatendi’s?” 

“Just the tape. I couldn’t find a paper copy anywhere.” 

“With…”

“With Tim on it. Yeah.” Danny cleared his throat. “If you need me to explain what he meant about Sasha later, I can. But, um… Yeah, Hatendi said he barely even touched the stuff to get it chasing after him, and it’s pretty clear the blanket was no help. What’d you end up using? Since Callum had _way_ more on him.”

Silence. Too long of silence.

“…You did _something,_ right? To make sure he was safe.” Disbelief started to creep into his voice. “From the _cult_ that kidnapped him? And the _sentient darkness?”_

It clicked with Callum then: they didn’t. His mother didn’t know about any precautions because they didn’t exist.

Hard to take offense when he hadn’t thought they would do anything in the first place. It didn’t even cross his mind as a possibility until Danny had mentioned it. They got him out of that warehouse, and then he went home. That was that.

Danny held the bar higher.

“You’re joking.” There was a cold sort of laughter underneath the words. “I— None of you can say you didn’t _know._ Melanie, you recorded this one! Tim kicked it off, and Martin works here as much as you both. Jon, you’re _well_ aware of all the statements, and Basira, you were part of the team that _rescued_ him! And none of you followed up? Ever?”

“None of us are counselors,” Basira replied. She wasn’t wrong. 

“Right, of course, silly me. All those counselors out there that include _keeping evil eldritch darkness from killing you violently_ in their care plans, I’m sure London is _crawling_ with them!”

Callum shifted where he stood. What did Danny want from them? Callum was fine.

“I’m not saying you had to be his g-ddamn therapist, Basira, I’m saying that one of you should have bothered to check that he was _alive!”_

What did it matter? He’d be alive whether or not they checked, and them keeping tabs wouldn’t have changed anything. Then they’d just get to see his stepfather hitting him when he did something he wasn’t supposed to or him changing the lightbulbs in his room. No thanks.

Danny was still going. “There’s a good chance of some Stranger interest in me still out there. If I just up and vanished, you all would _notice,_ right?”

“Of course we’d notice.” Melanie didn’t sound near as confident as usual. Callum didn’t know what to think about that.

“Yeah, because you _know_ me! That’s why you care!” There was a difference between shouting at someone and being loud, and Danny managed to keep to the second. “I am an _adult,_ and he’s a fucking kid. If he got taken again, by the People’s Church or by anyone else interested in the Dark, would you even _know?”_

“Look—” Jon, to Callum’s surprise. He must have been in his office.“Tim, Martin, and Melanie knew very little about what happened with Callum and the People’s Church, so them connecting it to Mr. Hatendi’s statement is a—”

_“Don’t_ insult their intelligence, Jon,” Danny snapped. “But… you’re at least right that they’re less at fault. You and Basira, on the other hand, knew _full well_ what might come for him, _and_ what he’d been through already.”

It wasn’t that bad. He was fine. Whatever might have come for him probably wasn’t that bad, either.

“That’s not— That’s not what the Institute is _for.”_ Some growing defensiveness in Jon’s voice. 

“Then what is it for, Jon? What the fuck is this place _for?_ I mean—” Another disbelieving laugh. “The damn statement ends with him hoping his story could help keep someone else who got involved with the Dark _safe!”_

“It’s for information and study, not monster hunts! The Eye has never concerned itself with—”

“You’re _kidding.”_ Fierce anger, now. “You’re blaming the _Eye_ for the fact that you never even sent someone to make sure that nothing dragged Callum off again? You settle with the bystander shit, just doing everything your damn _patron_ wants, and nothing it doesn’t?”

Jon matched Danny’s heat. “You had no trouble doing the same thing in the thick of _your_ patron, just going along with its whims.”

Nothing for a few seconds. Callum looked down as if he might see thick black silence seeping out from under the door. Nothing there, too.

“Jon.” Ground out. “I am sympathetic to the fact that you’re cornered more often than not, and that you’re just as trapped here as anyone else. You do _not_ get to make that comparison.” 

Callum couldn’t name the emotion Danny’s voice, but he knew the sound of it made his own throat hurt. 

If Danny’s did, he continued despite that. “Your whole thing is awful knowledge, right? I’m sure if you gave it your best, you could Know all the gory details of just how _blindingly_ stupid it is to say our situations are similar.” The other emotion left, and his words went as cold as shadows. “But you better hope you have a _strong_ stomach.”

Before Callum had a chance to even attempt pretending like he’d just come down the stairs, the archives door burst open and left him rooted in the spotlight.

Eyes slipping shut, Danny breathed, “Fuck.” Wince. “Shit.” Another wince. _"…Crap.”_ All of it came around the least happy smile Callum had ever seen.

Past him stood Jon, frozen and staring into the hall with a stricken face. Whether it was from his parting words, Danny’s response, or seeing Callum there was impossible to say. 

Danny opened his eyes again to fix Callum with what was mostly a grimace. “You heard all of that, didn’t you?”

“…Yeah.”

“Super. Wonderful.” Danny shut the door behind him, then dragged both hands through his hair. 

“Sorry.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Alright? Nothing.”

Callum chewed his thumbnail. “Okay.”

Danny’s hands dropped, and he tried for another smile. “How about you and me go get some pastries?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Raspberry danishes weren’t Callum’s favorite, but this one wasn’t half bad. Danny had an eclair. Callum could tell he’d just asked the first thing he saw, but it was hard to judge when Callum did the same thing.

“Do you want to stick around here for a bit, or would you rather go back to the Institute?” It was the first non-order thing Danny had said since leaving. Callum shrugged.

The shop was a bit cramped. Outside was cold but open. From his face, it was safe to say Danny thought the same thing. 

“May as well head that way now. I’ve got a lot more statements to comb through.”

No kidding. The stack Danny put on his desk before his attempt at homework help looked as thick as any of Callum’s textbooks.

It wasn’t until they left the shop and began their meander back that Callum found words. “Are all of them more of the Darkness statements?”

“Yep.” Danny lifted his eclair as if to take a bite, then lowered it again without following through. “I’m sure there’s more mixed up with all the rest; that’s just what I found on my first pass. I’ll get the others in on it, too. We’ll find something.”

The cold bit at Callum’s cheeks and nose, but there wasn’t much wind. Sunshine did its best to break through the chill, and in the gaps between awnings’ shadows, it nearly did. There wasn’t much it could do for the heat draining from his danish by the second. Not the end of the world.

“I’m sorry you had to hear all that.” 

Right. All _that._

Callum shrugged again. “S’fine. It doesn’t matter.” 

He couldn’t read the look on Danny’s face. Was Callum supposed to be as mad as Danny was back in the archives? Not now, but it was just the two of them now. 

After a moment, Danny said, “We’re going to do better from now on, okay?”

This was _Danny._ Callum could ask him.

“What’s _better_ mean?”

Danny didn’t answer right away, but Callum knew what it looked like when someone didn’t intend to at all, if they’d even heard him in the first place. This wasn’t that. He waited. 

“It means making sure you’re safe. With big stuff and small stuff.” He glanced over from his untouched pastry. “You still have my phone number, right?”

“Mhm.” The paper went in the bin, but he copied it onto the inside cover of his maths textbook first. He’d flipped past it enough that the numbers were well stuck in his head by now. 

“Good. Even if it’s late at night or something, you can—”

Before Danny could finish, he ran into a stock-still figure in the middle of the pavement — some woman Callum didn’t recognize. As soon as Danny bumped her, she flinched and recoiled back. 

“Oh, ‘scuse—”

Just like when Basira came in the archives, her expression made him go silent. Her pupils shrank to pinpricks as she stared at him, and her mouth hung open.

The color drained from Danny’s face. His lips curled into that weird not-happy smile. 

“Do—”

He couldn’t get more than a single breath out before the woman staggered back with eyes huge enough to show the whites around her whole iris. Danny seemed locked in place, unmoving. Callum couldn’t even see him breathe. 

Another second, and the woman bolted down the road in a dead sprint. She didn’t look back.

Callum’s head whipped between her and Danny in absolute confusion. Did Danny know this lady or something? What had she done that made her so scared of him? Was she one of the people who attacked the Institute at some point?

Danny stayed locked until she disappeared around a corner farther ahead. As soon as she was out of sight, he pivoted and kicked a nearby bin with a wordless shout, hard enough that Callum jumped. 

“Sorry, _sorry,_ I—” One of Danny’s hands pushed through his hair, then fisted so tightly his knuckles went white. His face was still the color of ash. “Today’s just— I’m sorry.”

Callum drew his bottom lip between his teeth. As chapped as it was, he could taste copper in seconds. “What— What’s her problem?”

Danny shoved down his smile with visible effort. “…Let’s sit somewhere.”

The nearest bench was only a few paces away. It was situated between awnings, so they wouldn’t be _too_ cold. Their pastries lay forgotten in paper bags between them.

Whatever Danny was thinking, Callum couldn’t tell, even as his arms folded tight across his chest. It was a long while before he spoke.

“Basira already told you some, right? About my, uh… my history.”

They split discomfort between them like a candy bar. Callum wouldn’t make a bid for the bigger half.

“I guess.” Shrug. “How you got stuck with some group. Got knocked around, and all.”

“Did she explain why that happened?” 

“Not really. Just that you got hurt a lot.”

Danny scratched at the scar on his lip. “It was…” Stopped. Reconsidered. “It all came down to stuff pretty similar to what happened to you. They weren’t too interested in _me,_ they just wanted to use part of my body. Eventually, I got it worked out where they wouldn’t take anything, as long as I worked with them.”

“So they wouldn’t kill you.” Or discipline. Callum hated the discipline, even when his parents insisted it was for his own good or whatever. He didn’t think the stuff that happened to Danny was for _his_ own good.

“Right.” Danny picked at a loose thread on his shirt sleeve. “Guess I don’t need to sugarcoat some bits with you, do I?”

“I’m not a baby.”

“I know.” Unlike most adults, Callum thought Danny might’ve meant it. “The way things worked there, it all came down to different shows and performances, and at those… People got hurt. Usually just one, sometimes more.” Danny was back to smiling, just a little. Still not a regular one. “And I was the one audiences saw the most of.”

“Why?”

“The job they gave me meant I was the one announcing things, describing them, all that. Other people came and left the stage, but I was there the whole time.”

“Oh.” Callum’s teeth dug into his lip. More copper. “So when you didn’t do that, that’s when you got all knocked around.”

Danny nodded. “When I said I wouldn’t at the start, or when I broke a rule. Things like that. I went along more as time went on since I didn’t know when I would get out.”

The question was too much. Callum asked it anyway. “How long were you stuck with them?”

“…Four years.”

Nothing to say to that. Four years. Callum was— was _gone_ three days. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be so… Not scared. So… upset, maybe? That sounded like a baby word, too, though. 

Whatever. The word didn’t matter. He wasn’t supposed to be whatever-it-was.

“Callum?”

He looked up. The fragments of concern on Danny’s face made him want to shout. “What?”

“What’re you thinking?”

Callum _just_ said he wasn’t a baby. No reason to prove otherwise. He shrugged.

Danny watched him a moment longer, then went on. “So, there’s some people who got out and still remember me. They don’t know anything that happened behind-the-scenes. All they know is that I was there, and I scared them.” His jaw flexed. “People like her.”

“That’s not fair.” Callum sank back on the bench with a scowl. “You didn’t wanna do any of that. It’s not _your_ fault you got stuck with bad guys.”

The not-happy smile again. “Big picture, you’re right. I don’t want to be a part of anything that gets people hurt.” A beat. Callum watched passersby. Danny did the same. “But while I was in the middle of it all, part of me _did_ want to. If someone else was hurt, that meant it wasn’t me.”

He turned to meet Callum’s eyes. “Do you know what I mean?”

Callum wasn’t sure what to say. He shrugged with one shoulder. Danny didn’t press.

Silence as Callum kicked his heels against the pavement. He broke it first.

“That’s the kind of stuff you meant when you were talking to Jon.”

Danny stared at nothing. “…Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Another _too much_ question. “Do you think he’ll try to Know about it?”

The quiet that passed was long enough that Callum started to think that Danny might not answer. He nibbled at his cold danish.

“I hope not. There’s a, um… There’s a reason I haven’t told them about a lot of it. I don’t know how him Knowing things works, if it’s just the hard facts put together in a list, or if he… sees them.” Danny's mouth tugged up at the corners. “And he shouldn’t have to carry that. The details, I mean. Hypotheticals are hard enough for all them to handle.”

If he hadn’t told the others about a lot of the things those people did to him, there was no chance he’d tell Callum. Callum knew better than to ask for any more too-muches. He didn’t think he _wanted_ to know.

Danny uncrossed his arms to run a hand through his hair. No fingers digging in, this time. “It’s good Tim isn’t back yet, at least. I don’t think it’d matter to him that Jon didn’t mean what he said.”

Right. The brother that died. The one who was supposed to come back. The one that no one but Melanie and Danny himself believed could. Callum didn’t know what to say about that part of it, and so said nothing. 

“He didn’t?”

No hesitation in Danny’s shaking head. “People say things they don’t mean in arguments, especially ones like that.” He huffed the outline of a laugh. “I’m not saying it wasn’t a stupid, shitty thing to say. It was. But I don’t think he’ll let it lie. Might be a minute before I’ll take an apology, though. We’ll see.”

Callum chewed a hangnail and tasted more copper. “Mm.” 

“Don’t be mad at him on my part.” 

“We’ll see,” Callum mimicked. Danny’s laugh had a little more substance to it, but his face went serious again in less than a second. His eyes had that same dark, bruised look they did the day after his shutdown.

“Tim damn well better get back soon.” Mostly under his breath. “Or I’m gonna learn necromancy so I can bring him back and kill him myself.”

“Don’t kill him ‘til I can see what real zombies are like.” A joke. Kind of. A joke unless there was a zombie, and then it would be _very_ serious. He needed to know how much shambling was involved, here. 

The smile Callum pulled out with that looked the closest to genuine he’d seen since the second bell note. He’d take it. 

They sat in quiet for a while, watching cars pass. Snow started to fall, but the clouds didn’t quite block all sunlight, and it caught on fat snowflakes as they drifted to the ground.

“We should get back.” Danny pushed himself up to stand. “I’m sure Rosie’s wondering where we got off to.” 

Callum took the offered hand and got to his feet. He could start walking, but an impulse shot through him that he didn’t bother to fight. 

A hug. Tight, quick. Barely enough time for Danny to return it. 

“I’m cold. Let’s go.”

He turned away fast enough he couldn’t see Danny’s face, but there was no missing the smile in his voice when he said, “Sounds like a plan.”

This time, that smile was real. Callum was sure of it. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


So cramped it choked. So huge it smothered. 

Callum sat, knees curled to his chest, and waited. The door would open eventually. 

There was an outline of light here, too. He pictured his monster. Up close and personal, now. No space between door and bed, here. Even sat against the very back wall, Callum couldn’t see the entire frame. 

He and his monster could both fit here, so it would be a little bit smaller this time. The whole place felt enormous to him, but his monster had to fit in the middle of the light to work. That was where it lived. 

Footsteps approached. Callum bit down on hope. 

Footsteps passed. Callum swallowed it. 

He wasn’t even sure what he’d done wrong. Sometimes he wondered if it was just because he was in the house, no other reason needed. 

His stepfather loved him, according to his mother, and she knew what she was talking about with that sort of thing. Phillip didn’t love her, and his stepfather did. She had something to compare it to. Obvious lack versus unclear presence. 

Like always, Callum spent a handful of minutes on trying to figure out if his stepfather forgot he was in here with how long it felt. It had never been the case before, but he couldn’t help wondering every time. 

His monster had fur today, he decided. A big, snarling beast. With a mane. 

The television flipped on. Callum tried to imagine what show might be playing from the snatches he could catch, but it never lasted. All the practice with picturing his monster’s different versions meant he was good at holding onto that in his head. Not an image, not really, but a form. Whenever he tried to picture what color it was, that part didn’t stick, but shapes did.

It made enough sense, he supposed. Living in the middle of a blind spot meant the color didn’t matter. 

The mane was full of sharp spines, he decided, or maybe quills. All covered in poison. It could fire them off at people, too. 

He imagined it filling the space between him and the door, arched over and around him. The fur was almost close enough to touch, but he didn’t reach out. He didn’t want to feel nothing but empty air. Imagination could only fill so much of the void. 

Callum hated it in here. He hated it a lot. 

At least it wasn’t very often. He stayed out after school, at the Institute or wherever, and never got home long before his mother. Weekends meant she was at work while he and his stepfather were both home, and his stepfather didn’t sleep all day. No work. 

Saturdays and Sundays gave him few excuses for staying out of the house. He wasn’t going to try and be friends with Tristan again, so zilch as far as sleepovers went. It was wandering or home, and February made wandering almost as miserable as this. 

He made his choice, so here he was. Maybe he could figure out what he did wrong while he waited it out. 

His monster’s teeth were thin and sharp. Needles. Also poisonous. 

No, _venomous_ was the word, right? They talked about that in his science class not too long ago. _Venomous_ teeth and quills and stuff. Super venomous. _Blue-ringed octopus_ venomous. Those were cool.

Callum tried to give his monster blue rings on its fur, but they slipped right off again. It never wanted colors. That was alright.

Maybe, if he reached out, he could make himself feel it. Just a bit of fur. Just for a second. Believing hard enough made fairies live, after all. His monster was a lot bigger than Tinker Bell, but maybe it worked the same. 

One hand lifted, readying itself to stretch into the darkness. Maybe, maybe. 

Right before he could grasp for something in the nothing, the door opened, and a grip closed on his arm. The closet always looked so much bigger and so much smaller once he was pulled outside. 

“Room. Now.” 

At least he didn’t ask if Callum was sorry for whatever he did. It was hard to make sorries sound real when he didn’t know what they were for. Besides, this end wasn’t so bad. He could just go through his bedroom window to get out of the house for a bit. As long as he was back before his mother got home from work, it stayed his secret.

The usual low-rolling misery that came with so long stuck in the dark didn’t show. The internal scrambling for what rule he broke never came. 

It was hard to bother with those when, in the split second before the light spilled in, Callum could hear his monster breathe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: discussion of kidnapping, some of Danny's past (though if you were fine in HLM you'll be just fine here -- it's very light), child abuse (specifically a brief reference to physical abuse and being shut in a closet as punishment)
> 
> time for some secret lore. yknow that scene in hlm ch4 where danny calls some guy as an audience volunteer, and when the guy hesitates, a woman he's with pushes him to do it bc of how Exciting™ it is? remember that woman? 
> 
> i forgot to link it last chapter, but if you haven't yet, check out my beta ron gerrydelano's new series [pharos by right](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26637169/chapters/64956085), an archivist gerry au that basically rewrites canon with how much shit that concept changes. it's already a hell of ride and as the one helping build it i promise you shit will only get even wilder!
> 
> on the horizon: another crew, another ship, another captain


	5. Shaula

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[Yolŋu]_ A star representing a man who sacrificed his life to save his younger brother when a storm capsized their canoe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not related to the chapter but, i've been doing some rereading and (minor) editing of hlm here and there, and there's been a handful of typos -- if you ever notice one don't hesitate to let me know so i can fix it!
> 
> suggested listening: good friend by cloud cult  
> [[playlist so far](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtbsflE5_346VAfjhfHlK2PTnEEFj8KNY)]

Early March traded snow for rain, and a bombed-out wax museum wasn’t suited for either.

Least it wasn’t raining at that exact moment. Callum got soaked enough just stepping outside school before he’d managed to wrestle his umbrella open. Still, water pooled on the ground between chunks of plaster and stone with just as much grime as the old snowmelt. 

“I don’t think the Stranger would have magically reappeared after this long, Basira.”

“We need to be sure.” It was obvious Basira had no plan to budge. “Apparently some actual cleanup plans are getting finalized, so if people are gonna be working around here, I don’t want us to miss something that might mess with them.”

Danny didn’t argue, but he had a look on his face Callum couldn’t pin. Not fear, not anxiety. All Callum could tell was that he didn’t like being here. 

It hadn’t used to bother him. Maybe it was because what he and Callum found last time wasn't what Danny was looking for. Not really.

Callum crunched down on the last bit of the orange sweet he got from Rosie on the way out the door. Personally, he wasn’t about to complain about an excuse to get out of the Institute for a while — one that didn’t involve going home just yet, anyway. 

Last time Basira and Danny swept the place, they hid in the dead of night, but here they stood in the middle of the afternoon. Basira seemed antsy, so Callum guessed it made sense. She needed something to do. Madame Tussauds was something. 

“Anything?”

More rubble crunched under their feet as they kept their slow pace through. Danny shook his head. “Nothing.”

Callum wasn’t sure, but he thought Basira looked almost _irritated._ If she thought they’d find something, she probably wouldn’t have let him come, but part of her must have hoped she was wrong. 

In honesty, Callum had hoped the same thing. Watching Danny fight the flesh monsters was cool. Who knew what something created by the Stranger would look like? Something besides Ostromkiller, anyway. 

Danny might know. Callum didn’t think he should ask. Not right here, not right now. 

“The smell isn’t as strong.” Flat voice. 

Basira glanced over at Danny. Callum still couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “The, uh… the death smell?”

“Mm.” He kept walking as if it didn’t matter. 

Callum wasn’t hidden this time. No harm in asking. “What’s death smell like?”

“It’s not really a _smell,_ I just don’t know what else to call it.” Danny shrugged. _“Smell_ is close enough. Mostly gone, now.”

There was a pinched look around Danny’s eyes. Callum met Basira’s own, but she just shook her head a little. 

“It doesn’t make _sense.”_ Said quiet. Basira didn’t hear, or if she did, she didn’t show it. Callum followed her lead. He didn’t want to be the one who made that look any worse.

“Still nothing?”

Danny’s jaw flexed. “If I felt anything strange, I would tell you.” Basira pursed her lips without replying. 

The walls around them were more _hole_ than _wall._ It didn’t mean much in the way of sunshine, not with dark grey clouds stuffed thick in the sky like cotton balls. Gloom hung in every corner and behind piles of splintered wood and fabric. The rain might’ve let up earlier that day, but Callum could hear quiet drips echo through the place as water spilled from what was left of its upper floors. 

It didn’t feel strange. Just hollow. 

Hollow until something shifted. It wasn’t a sound or a sight. Callum wasn’t even sure it was _real_ until Danny and Basira exchanged a sharp look. 

_Stranger?_ Basira mouthed. Danny shook his head, brows furrowed. 

The three of them stood frozen, surrounded by chunks of stone and plaster. A wax hand stretching out from where collapsed bits of the building had crushed the rest its body made Callum shiver.

Another shift that Callum couldn’t be sure he felt. He didn’t need any sharp looks to confirm it this time, not when Danny jerked upright as soon as it hit with eyes flying wide. Before Callum or Basira could do anything but blink, Danny was off, racing deeper into the broken building without a single word to either of them. 

Basira charged after him with Callum right on her heels, but Danny was faster than them both, and the length of his legs meant he covered that much more ground with every step. He vaulted with ease over a fallen column and left the other two to scramble around. A doorway filled with rubble forced him to hesitate, but he bolted off again after only a breath.

Basira didn’t bother to pause, whisper-shouting as she followed, “Danny! Danny, what the hell are you _doing?”_ Callum did, just long enough to peer through a gap between shattered light fixtures. 

Someone was inside, too shadowed to make out. The figure swayed as if unable to keep steady.

By the time Callum and Basira caught up, Danny was shoving aside plywood blocking another entrance. A sign laid on the floor at his feet. The amount of shadows made reading it even more tricky than normal, but Callum thought it said something about an exhibit under construction.

The figure turned just as the last board clattered to the ground. Danny gaped for a second before all the tension Callum had almost stopped noticing flooded away.

“You complete _wanker.”_

Callum came into what was left of the room just in time to see Danny rush towards the other figure.

Then through. Then into a pillar.

Danny whipped around so fast it was like he hadn’t even registered the crash, face drawn in absolute confusion. The guy he ran at raised his arms a little, looking down at his own body — shorter than Danny by some, and broader.

“Dunno if your old jacket’s still around here anywhere, but if you find it, we can get into some real bullfighter crap.” He held his hands out to the side as if gripping fabric. “Give it another go. I’ll remember to yell _torero_ this time.” 

Danny stared as the other guy kept on, then shook his head, face slack. “I hate you so much.”

“Holy hell.” Basira picked her way through the mess, eyes round. “Guess you get _I told you so_ rights.”

Danny didn’t reply, too busy sticking his hand out and watching it sink right into the center of the other guy’s chest. He wasn’t see-through or anything, but in Callum’s mind, all other signs pointed to _ghost._ Ghost guy’s skin was a shade darker and a little more washed out than Danny’s. His hair seemed long — hard to judge when it was tied in a bun, but it had to be long to make the style work at all. 

Ghost guy watched Danny’s hand as it passed through his shirt a few times, back and forth, then looked up with a raised eyebrow. 

“You done?”

“Wait.” Back, forth. “Now I am.”

“This Tim, then?” Pretty safe guess. Callum couldn’t think of anyone else Danny might react to like this. 

Ghost guy noticed him at last. Similar scars to Jon — pockmarks everywhere and a line across his throat. Weird. “Uh, yeah.” To Danny, he asked, “Who’s this?”

Something lit up in Danny’s eyes, and he crossed over to Callum. Rather than tug him back to their little collective in the middle of the sort-of-room, he stopped with his back to Tim.

“Callum.” Whispered. “I am _begging_ you to go with me on this.”

“On what?” 

“Shh, _shh,_ just— this is gonna be great, trust me.” 

Before Callum could ask a single question, Danny grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him to join the rest. 

“I don’t really know how to say this, but, um— so, you were… gone for a _while…”_

Tim’s brows furrowed as his eyes flicked from Callum to where Danny stood behind him, hands still set on Callum’s shoulders. 

Another second, then realization smacked Tim like a truck. 

“…No. _No_ way.”

Callum couldn’t see Danny’s face, but he could picture his sheepish smile well enough. It took everything he had to keep his own grin down. Basira was no comfort, either — when Tim checked to see if she still might be sane, she kept her face blank. A surprisingly good sport. 

“There is no chance in _hell—”_

“Seriously, Tim.” Complete, earnest sincerity. “I know it doesn’t seem like it since I look the same and all, but that’s the Stranger for you. You were gone for thirteen years—”

“Twelve years,” Callum corrected. 

“Twelve years.”

When Tim squinted at him again in mild horror, Callum waved. His teeth dug hard into the inside of his cheek to hold in laughter.

“Danny.” A hard look. “That boy is white.”

Hands slapped over Callum’s ears, ones that did absolutely nothing to block his hearing. Callum caught every word when Danny stage-whispered, “I’m still trying to figure out how to tell him.” 

That cut through any attempt to keep a straight face, and Callum broke down into snickering. Immediate relief on Tim’s face. 

“Okay, so who _actually_ are you?”

“Callum—” He choked on another laugh. “Callum Stoker.”

Danny held out a hand. Callum high fived it. Basira’s fingers closed around the bridge of her nose. 

Arms flung wide, Tim declared, “If this is payback for every April Fools prank, I’m _sorry!”_

It was a minute before Callum and Danny could stop laughing. Every time Callum thought he had it under control, he’d look up to see Tim trying to hold on to a put-out expression, and the complete failure of it just set him off again. 

Long after his stomach had started to ache, they settled. Callum’s face hurt from grinning. 

“So if we’re done with all the _improv skits,”_ Tim started. He was still doing an awful job of pretending like he didn’t think it was a _little_ funny. “What’s your actual name?”

“Callum Brodie.”

Tim nodded, then blinked. Another realization on his face, the exact one Callum was hoping not to see. “Oh, you’re the kid who—”

The kick Callum aimed at Tim’s shin did little when his trainer passed right through the leg of Tim’s trousers. Some kind of instinct from when Tim had to worry about things like getting kicked meant he pulled it back right quick anyway. 

“Woah, woah, hey—” Hands steered him again, this time away from Tim. “No kicking.”

Callum shot Danny a dirty look. “Only ‘cause he’s a ghost or whatever.” 

“Yeah, what’s, uh…” Basira scanned Tim. “You’re spooky now, then?”

“Less spooky than if I was, like, covered in gruesome injuries or something.” Tim shrugged. “Could be worse, far as ghosts go.” 

Basira winced in agreement. “We should get back. I’m sure Jon will have plenty of questions.” 

“Plus then we can tell ‘em all Danny was right,” Callum piped up. Tim shot Danny a look, and Danny mirrored his earlier shrug. 

They started to pick their way back out of the rubble. Callum hadn’t noticed while sprinting after him, but Danny’s flight had led them into some of the thickest destruction. They must be near where the bombs went off. 

“Everything’s still a wreck,” Tim said as they skirted the fallen column. “How long’s it been, really?”

Basira double-checked her phone calendar. “A little under seven months, by about a week.”

“Jon got back not too long ago, so you’re not the only new arrival,” Danny added.

“Got back?” Tim attempted to shift a board out of their way, then glared at his hand when it passed through. 

“He was in a coma.” Basira reached around to take care of it. “Six months with no heartbeat, no breathing, but his brain activity was off the charts.”

Tim’s brows flew high on his face, and Callum knew his own matched. He hadn’t heard that part before. 

“Boss is a zombie, now?”

“Like you have room to talk,” Danny teased. Tim tried to elbow him. 

Ignoring their failed effort at roughhousing, Basira went on. “I think you both finalized your whole…” She gestured vaguely up and down at Tim. _“Thing,_ during all that time.”

“Huh.”

They came out onto the side street behind what was left of Madame Tussauds. Someone was leaving one of the townhouses. When Danny smiled widely and waved, they turned around and went right back inside. Callum couldn’t help a laugh. 

The clouds above had yet to go anywhere, but Tim squinted like they were in blinding sunshine. Someone from the nearby intersection laying on their car horn made him wince and reach up to adjust a hearing aid Callum hadn’t noticed. 

“What took you so long to get back?” Danny almost managed to sound casual. 

“Can’t say I remember much.” Tim reached up and tugged his hair free of the elastic. Raising his arms showed the black bands tattooed around his biceps — one solid, the other split with a small pattern in the middle. If he was bothered by the cold March air in nothing but a T-shirt, Callum couldn’t tell.

“Seriously, or are you just—”

“No lies, right?” Tim interrupted as he redid his bun.

That must have meant something to Danny, because he took it without argument. Basira’s slight shrug when Callum looked to her for an answer made it clear that she didn’t get it any more than he did.

The trip back to the Institute took what felt like no time at all. Danny was chatty as ever, going on about all sorts of stuff that Callum didn’t know a thing about. Hannah had a baby, Elias was in prison, José got married, Georgie invited them over for whatever Purim was, on and on. 

One thing Callum _did_ know: Danny hadn’t stopped smiling this entire time. One of the good ones, not the bad ones. Having a brother must be alright. 

It wasn’t until they got to the back courtyard at the Institute that Tim asked about Callum again. He and Danny dropped back a little and left Basira to lead the way inside. Lowered voices, but if Callum listened hard, he could hear them just fine.

“So why is he hanging ‘round here? Just because of the Dark?”

“That’s part of it, sure.” A short pause. “But it helps that I’m a, uh… a lot more fun to hang out with than his parents.” 

Weird way to put it. Danny knew his parents weren’t even _home_ a lot of the time, so of course Danny was more fun than them. It was easy to beat competition that didn’t exist.

Another pause, then, “Ten-four.” No more questions.

They descended the stairs to see Jon, head buried in a file and muttering to himself as he shuffled past.

Before any of the others could say a word, Tim called, “Hey, Jon!” 

“Hm? Yes, hello, Tim.” Jon didn’t even look up. 

Tim caught Callum’s eye and held up three fingers, mouthing, _Three… two… one…_

On cue, Jon jerked to a halt and whipped around so fast the file went flying from his hand. A deft catch from Danny kept it off the floor. “You— Tim, you’re— You— How are you—” His arms flapped around like a bird trying not to fall over. _“What?”_

No way Tim could answer with how hard he was cracking up. Jon’s mouth twisted, and he attempted to whack him in the leg with his cane. His expression when it went right through sent Tim on another spiral, one that Callum joined. 

“Stop _laughing,_ you complete _ass!”_ Jon waved his cane around more. “You’re just— You just _walk in—”_

“Would it be better if he waltzed in?” Danny asked with what sounded like complete sincerity. Both of Basira’s hands were over her face now, fingers pressed hard to her eyes. 

_“Waltzed,_ wh— No, but— But I think you can _forgive me_ if I’m a _touch_ surprised!” 

Tim was almost howling now, clutching his knees. Callum could only just hear a door farther down the hall fly open. 

“Some of us are trying to _sleep,_ so can we stop with the bloody _screaming—”_

The complaint ground to a halt when Melanie saw the rest of them: Tim still laughing, Jon still shouting at him, Basira still looking like she was doing her best to blind herself. Danny waved at her with another grin. 

Melanie’s wide-eyed stare flattened to a grimace in moments. “I _knew_ I should have made Martin put money on it.” 

It was Danny who laughed, now. “You and me both.” 

“Well, um…” Jon's complete shock pulled back, and he looked at Tim with something like wonder. “I suppose we have some things to catch you up on.” 

“Fantastic.” Tim clapped his hands together. It didn’t make a sound. “Time for onboarding seminar two.” 

As they all filed back into the archives, Melanie fell into step with Tim. “So. How was hell?”

“Oh, it was great. Beautiful architecture, loved the brimstone.” He shot her a crooked smile. “You’ll love it there.”

“Can’t wait.”

Callum tugged on the string of his hoodie. Was he meant to stick around for this bit, or should he go now? His backpack was still in there, though. Did they think he was just going to collect his stuff and go so they could talk? All of them were pretty straight with him most of the time, but with all this chaos, they might forget he was around until he did something he wasn’t supposed to. He didn’t want to be the one to mess up everyone’s good mood. 

Danny looked over his shoulder as he held open the archives door. Still had that easy smile. 

“You coming?” 

Stare, then nod. “Mm.” 

Tim was in Callum’s usual chair, but Callum didn’t mind sitting on the floor. He went to grab his backpack to use as something to lean on, then paused when something about Tim’s face caught his eye.

He squinted. Tim raised a brow in obvious question.

“What?” 

“Your eyes are bleeding.”

“Bleeding?”

“They’ve got red on ‘em.”

Understanding replaced Tim’s confusion. “Not blood, just eyeliner.”

Eyeliner? “But you’re a guy.” 

“Sure am. I’ve got long hair and nail polish, too.” Tim wiggled his fingers in a joke-scary way. “Don’t let it send your world crashing down around you.”

Callum heard Melanie stifle a laugh, but he just raised a brow right back at Tim. “Well, Danny wears nail polish.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Oh, so when _Danny_ does it—”

“He has good judgement,” Danny cut in, all matter-of-fact. Tim attempted to grab a pencil as if to throw it at him, then scowled when his fingers passed through. 

In an instant, Jon was there to peer at Tim’s hand. He looked so much like a caricature of some kind of scholar that Callum almost laughed. 

“Can you not make contact with things?”

Tim stared at him, then reached out to stick his entire hand into the nearest desk lamp. “No idea.”

“A simple _no_ would have sufficed,” Jon grumbled, but curiosity overshadowed any irritation. 

Melanie cocked her head. “You’ve got to make _some_ kind of contact with things. I mean, you’re sitting in a chair.” 

“Maybe it’s just that he stopped moving.” Basira tapped a pen against her lip. “Like, you’re stopped where the chair is.”

Before Tim could reply, Callum took it upon himself to grab Tim’s chair and pull. He was a big guy. If he sat like normal, it wouldn’t budge.

It budged, and left Tim hovering on empty air. 

“…Huh,” Danny said mildly. “Neat.” 

“Weird,” Melanie corrected.

_“…Unusual.”_ Jon squinted at the space below Tim as if the chair left its own ghost behind.

“Put it back.” No addition to the word-association game with Basira. “I hate looking at that.” 

Callum put it back. 

After a pause, Jon cleared his throat. “We can experiment with what your… _situation_ entails in a moment, but first—”

“The seminar?” Tim finished.

“The very same.” He shuffled where he stood. “We could start with… or, no, how much do—”

“Jon was in a coma and came back; Elias is in prison and Peter Lukas is in charge; Martin’s his assistant and won’t talk to any of us; Melanie got all Slaughter-y because of a bullet from the ghost that shot her, but Helen took it out; Callum’s got some bit of the Dark still stuck to him; and I’m getting haunted by some asshole with a thing for bells.”

Basira looked over the room. “Did I miss anything?”

Silence.

“No, I—” Jon coughed. “I think that about covers it.” 

“Also, we all pretty much live here right now, so. Hope you’ve got a spooky sleeping bag.” Melanie lifted her legs to curl where she sat and fiddled idly with a tube of chapstick. 

“…Right.” Tim shifted back in his chair with fingers laced behind his neck. “Good to know it’s still as much of a pit around here as ever.” Melanie snorted in clear agreement. 

It took a moment for Tim to process it all, but before he could do anything beyond open his mouth to voice what Callum assumed would be a question, Jon’s eyes narrowed sharply.

“Wait, Tim, you’re— You’re leaning back.”

A puzzled look. “…Yes?”

“No, I mean— you’re _leaning back,_ your chair is tilted.”

“He’s right,” Danny reported to the rest after inspecting it on Tim’s other side. “It’s shifted, just as much as you’d expect.”

Another cocked head from Melanie. “So you _can_ touch stuff?”

Tim kept very still. “I guess it’s… _not_ all-or-nothing, then?”

“It certainly seems that way.” Jon rustled in his cardigan pocket to pull out a tape recorder, then began to detail how Tim had passed through the pencil just before versus how the chair moved now. Despite Tim’s sour look at the recorder, he didn’t protest. 

As Jon monologued away, Tim swiped a hand out in cautious waves. Nothing until the third pass: his fingers made contact with the desk lamp’s stand. Silent. Still visible. 

Vampires had weird shark-mouths in their throats instead of fangs. Ghosts _could_ touch things, sometimes. Jury was still out on zombies and shambling. 

A bit of hope sparked on Danny’s face, and he sat forward. “Do you think, maybe…?”

Tim considered for a moment. “Worth a shot.” 

Callum watched as Danny held out his arm. The sleeve of his shirt rode up enough to show a mark on his wrist that disappeared under fabric — a scar, maybe. Tim’s hand blocked it from sight in moments, but when he tried to grab Danny’s wrist, his fingers closed on air. 

“…That’d be too easy, huh?” Danny managed to show only a quick flash of disappointment. 

Instead of matching him, Tim opened and closed his hand a few more times. Concentrating.

“Yeah, but… I _swear_ I felt something, just— just for a second.” 

“You might just need practice,” Basira said. 

One last failed attempt, then Tim’s arm dropped. “May as well get started.” 

It felt more like a game than practice. They took turns tossing him pens, folders, tapes, anything nearby. Callum was pretty sure that, when the notepad Melanie sent his way phased through and broke his high score of eleven successes in a row, they could hear her, Tim, Danny, and Callum himself groan in disappointment all the way up in the library. 

As the rest tried to figure out whether the non-ghosts could touch things like Tim’s elastic or hearing aids, Danny waved Callum over.

“Y’know, Tim’s eyeliner isn’t even that much,” he remarked as he opened the photo app on his phone. “I’ve gotten some pretty dramatic looks before.” 

The picture he pulled up was him and some other person — a girl, looked like. Kinda young. Her hair was done in a hot pink bob. Next to her, Danny sported a blend of deep purple and bright, glittering gold around his eyes. More gold along his cheekbones caught the light from wherever they were. 

“I go to a dance class every week, just for fun, and one of my classmates is really into makeup. Elfie’s her name.” Danny flipped to another picture, all blues and greens. “So when we have downtime during class or our instructor runs late, she usually ends up practicing on me.” 

“Why?” 

Danny shrugged. “She likes doing it, and it always looks good. I don’t wear makeup myself a lot, but it’s fun.”

Another picture. This time someone else joined Danny and Elfie, a guy with the sides of his head shaved and short brown braids along the top. Blocks of sharp black and white moved from their eyelids all the way across their temples and under their eyes. 

“Huh.” It still seemed kind of weird to Callum, but kind of interesting, too. He didn’t have to wear it to think it looked cool. Just a little.

Tim cut in before they could flip through any more. “Hey, Danny?”

Both Danny and Callum turned to see Honeybastard perched on the desk, stretching its neck — _maybe_ — to sniff Tim as best it could with how far Tim leaned away.

“So, uh.” He pointed at it. “What in all hell is this?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“It’s not a fucking _pirate!”_

Callum gawked into the archives from the doorway, backpack half off his shoulder. Basira was pacing on the far side of the room without even pausing to shout at Tim. Tim looked unbothered. 

“I mean, this _is_ some _Treasure Island_ bullshit. Black spot and everything.” 

“So, they watched _Pirates of the Carribean!”_ Basira exclaimed. “So did I! So did everyone!” 

Jon raised one hand a little. “I didn’t.” 

Tim’s eyes closed. “Oh, my g-d.” 

Backpack slipping the rest of the way off his shoulder to drag on the floor behind him, Callum wandered to Danny’s desk. “New note?”

“New note,” Danny confirmed, then leaned over to swipe a bit of paper from the desk next to him. Callum didn’t have to try and puzzle through the cursive to know what it said. 

“What’d the person bust up this time?” First the pipes, then the headstones. Seemed like they just liked breaking things. 

Basira stopped pacing to roll her neck, then said, “The lock on my flat. Nothing else.” 

“Thought you lived here?”

“I do. My things are still in my flat. I just wanted to get a damn _book,_ but I get there, and the door opens right up.” 

“You’re _sure_ they didn’t take anything?” Tim asked. 

“Not that I saw.” A sigh hissed through Basira’s teeth. “I’ve been telling myself just to get a storage unit and kept putting it off. Guess this is a sign.”

Jon came over to Danny’s desk to take the note from him, brows furrowed. “What exactly does the black spot mean?”

“Been a while since I read _Treasure Island.”_ Tim shifted where he was leaning against a rolling cart stacked with folders. The cart didn’t move an inch. “But I’m pretty sure it was a, uh… A death sentence.” 

“Great.” Basira didn’t seem scared — just a whole bunch of pissed off in a purple hijab.

Callum went to sit at his usual desk. He did still have homework to do. Maybe he would even do it. He’d more likely take a nap. Left the house late last night, didn’t get home ‘til the sun was up. Staying awake during school earlier that day was a nightmare.

“And you still can’t think of anyone who’d do this?” Danny asked.

“Uh, leave _spooky notes_ to let me know they want me dead?” Basira made a wide gesture at the paper in Jon’s hand. “And break the lock on my door just to leave it all dramatic on my bed? No.”

Tiredness didn’t keep questions from popping into Callum’s head. “How’d no one see your lock was broken?” The only reason Callum’s stepfather hadn’t noticed the busted latch on his window was because he put some tape over it and said it was to keep the thing closed. Not his most inspired lie, but it worked for now. 

Basira’s arms folded as her face went dark. “It was broken from inside the lock, I think.” 

“From the inside?” Jon prodded. “How so?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t like it was kicked in or anything, but it wasn’t picked — it was _broken._ The handle wouldn’t turn. Whoever did it closed the door enough that it looked shut, but it wasn’t latched all the way, so I could just… push it open.” 

“Got it,” Tim said with a silent snap. “We’re looking for Magneto. Pirate Magneto.” The glare Basira sent his way could’ve killed. Too bad her target was dead already. 

Callum tugged his backpack over and pillowed his head on his folded arms as Danny chipped in. “Did anyone from the flats around you see anything?” 

“No. For all I know, it was _one_ of them.” She rubbed her face with one hand. “And I’m not too eager to go back when they’ve _apparently_ kept enough tabs to know when I’d go there next. Might even hide _inside_ somewhere.” 

“You’re definitely not going alone.” Tim probably had some kind of determined look on his face or something. Callum couldn’t tell with his eyes closed. “Anyone shows up, I’ll pull out some kind of spooky ghost magic. Hopefully.”

“Comforting.” 

“And, um…” Jon’s cane made muffled thumps against the floor. “Do we have anything on the significance of _bells?”_

“The book was useless.” Another pause. Callum could just about picture Basira rubbing her eyes again. “So no.” 

_“Bell the second_ didn’t even give me any useless books when I searched it,” Danny added. 

Some quiet taps, then, _“Bell the third_ leads to some poetry, but I imagine it’ll be just as helpful as the first book. I’ll read it to be sure.” Frustration weighted each word. 

Tim hummed. “Never knew you were a poetry guy, Jon.”

“I’m not.” 

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

If Jon’s sputtered reply led to any more bickering, Callum didn’t know it. He was already asleep. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


New weight across his shoulders. Soft weight. He blinked to see pink yarn draped over his arm. Beyond that, he could just make out a smudge of light purple fabric past the blur of sleep.

He shut his eyes, and was sleeping again in moments.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Hey, Callum.” A hand on his shoulder, and a small shake. 

Sniffing, he pushed himself upright, muzzily rubbing one eye. “Mm?” Hunching over the desk made his back hurt, but a nap was a nap. He’d live with aches. 

“It’s getting a little late,” Danny said. “So—”

“Crap, what time is it?” Before he could answer, Callum was on his feet, swinging his backpack on with no trace of sleep-fuzz. The blanket hit the floor. “I gotta go, I—”

“Woah, woah, hey!” Danny’s hands went up, placating. “It’s just about five, you only slept for an hour or so. All good.” 

“Oh.” Normally around when he left, if he wanted to take his time. No rush. “Where’s the Professor?”

Danny scooted back in his chair to show it asleep on the ground under his desk. Slow chirping that Callum thought might be its version of a snore rolled in and out. He crouched to scratch its… ear? Where most things had ears, anyway. 

“Bye, Pencilkiller.” Its head lifted as it squeaked at him, then yawned. Callum didn’t think that many teeth should fit in one mouth, but what did he know? After snuffling at his fingers with a couple more squeaks, it curled back up with its tail clutched in its paws. Or claws. Or whatever. 

As he straightened back up again, Danny said, “Oh, before you head off — that dance class I mentioned the other day happens every Thursday, and my instructor is gonna have their nephew this week. He’s about your age, so if you want to come hang out and watch, you’re free to.” He shrugged. “The kid would probably like having someone to talk to, anyway.” 

Callum thought about it for a second, but what else was he doing with his Thursday? If he was bored, he could just leave. “Yeah, okay.”

“It’s at six, so check with your mum that it’s fine if you’re gone later, yeah?” 

“Okay.” Maybe. Callum scanned the room. “Where’s Tim?” He wanted to try and get him with a ninja star before he left. Maybe it’d even hit this time.

“Said he was going on a walk.” Danny smiled a little. Tightly. “He does that sometimes, and after a, uh, _talk,_ he lets me know first.” 

“A talk?” Usually that sort of emphasis meant yelling, but maybe not from Danny.

Danny fiddled with the ring strung around his neck as he answered. “Yeah, just— just making sure he tells me before he vanishes. I think being… _gone_ means he loses track of time a little easier, and it’s not like he gets cold or hungry. I don’t think he’s even had to change his hearing aid batteries.”

Huh. Not losing battery or whatever was probably useful, but Callum thought he’d miss his gran’s clam chowder too much to make that kind of trade himself. “Did he forget to say or something, before?”

“…Yeah, but we took care of it.” Danny tried for another smile. “Don’t worry about me, okay? Just ask your mum about Thursday and let me know.” 

“Okay,” Callum said without much thought behind it as he dug around in his bag. After a moment of search, he pulled out the star he’d wanted to aim at Tim. “You get him with this for me when he gets back, then.”

Actually smiling now, Danny took it and held it to his chest. “It would be my honor.” 

G-d, he was weird. Another reason to go to that class with him, Callum thought as he forged off into the cold evening. No way the people there knew about the monsters and stuff. Seeing them deal with how he was without any of that background would be a _riot._

Going to a dance class was weird, too. Weirder still was how Callum found himself looking forward to it.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Callum did ask his mother’s permission, in the end. He would’ve gone even if she said no, but at least then it wouldn’t be a _lie_ if Danny checked that she asked. 

It didn’t matter — he got the thumbs up. Dance was a go. 

“My mum said I can come!” 

Danny looked up as Callum burst into the archives, then held up his phone a little. “Yeah, she called me and asked where we’d be. She’ll pick you up when class is over.” 

“Oh.” Right. They could talk to each other. Weird. “Okay. What time does it start again?”

“Six, so we’ve got a couple hours.”

Meaning he should probably get homework done. Groan. 

Callum was left to contend with his science essay for what felt like a million years when a sound from Melanie’s desk caught his attention. She was scowling at a folder with her lip curled. 

“What?”

“Nothing, just going through some Dark statements.” Melanie’s brows went up as she shook her head. “This one’s got Rayner in it, so I thought it’d be useful, but instead it’s just some prison guard going on about how much he loves beating on inmates.” 

Danny matched her expression. “The Phillip Brown statement, right?”

“Yeah, it’s—”

“Phillip Brown?” Callum sat up a little. “That’s my dad’s name.” 

A moment of quiet as both Danny and Melanie zeroed in on him. Danny spoke first. 

_“That’s_ your dad?”

Callum shrugged. “My biological dad. I’ve never met him. I think he lives in Ireland or something now.”

“Oh, thank g-d.” The tension Danny had picked up drained out with his sigh. “He seems like a piece of work.”

“Yeah, my mum’s told me some. She split up with him right before she had me, though.”

Melanie thumbed through the folder in front of her. “I don’t think you’re missing much.”

Callum didn’t care about that, not right then. “He met Rayner? The Darkness guy?”

“Not for long,” she answered. “They didn’t even talk. Rayner was just visiting someone else in the prison.” 

“Oh.” What that meant, Callum had no idea. All he knew was that it was weird. 

Rayner hadn’t talked much to Callum himself, either. Spent a lot of time watching him, even blind as he was. Sometimes he went on for ages about hosts and continuation and worlds without light. Something about the _still and lightless beast,_ too. Wasn’t really talking, though, not when Callum wasn’t supposed to reply. He spent all that time trying not to think about how cold he was, all the way down to his bones. 

He still had a scar on one of his wrists from the wire they used to tie him up. His hoodie had cushioned most of it, but some had gotten under the cuff. Now, his nails scratched at the raised line like he could rub the whole thing away. Like he could make his skin look like it’d never been there at all. 

Rayner met his father, his _actual_ father. Then Rayner took Callum. Tried to _be_ him. Callum didn’t know what any of it meant at all. He didn’t think he _could_ know. 

“Hey.” A hand closed on the wrist Callum was picking at, covered in all those long, thin scars that looked just like the one on Callum’s skin — the one it now hid. “You alright?” 

Shrug. 

“Callum?”

He didn’t look up at Danny. “M’fine.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not.” 

A single tug pulled him out of Danny’s grip. “Well, I am, so.”

Danny didn’t push. Callum couldn’t tell if he was disappointed. 

More time passed, time that Callum couldn’t make himself use for homework. Not for lack of trying. His brain didn’t want to focus on it, way too caught up in insisting that he was cold. Stupid. The basement was hot, they all knew that. Being cold didn’t make _sense._

He pulled on his jacket anyway. 

Another million years passed before Danny sat back and checked his phone. “Alright, we should head out soon. You still good to go to class with me?” 

Callum scowled at him. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just double-checking,” Danny replied without rising to the bait. Ugh. 

Melanie waved as they left, but nothing else. She was too busy digging through the other folders on her desk. Right before Danny and Callum got out the door, she called, “Do you know where any of those statements about the Daedelus mission are?” 

“Uh, I don’t have any. Jon might know some.” 

She nodded without looking up as she scrawled something on a notepad. Danny waited, but it was like she forgot they were there as soon as they stopped talking. The roll of Danny’s eyes seemed more out of humor than irritation. Callum rolled his, too. 

The trip to the dance place wasn’t too long. Dance always seemed kind of girly to Callum, but who knew? May as well check it out himself before calling it for certain.

“We’re gonna be recording some sets today,” Danny told him as he held the front door open. Bright red columns framed it, and the whole front wall of the building was glass. Definitely a much nicer part of the city than Callum usually bothered with. “We don’t do too much in the way of competitions and all, but our instructor keeps up a YouTube channel. Today’s first recording so we can clean stuff up before we post any.” 

“Cool.” Callum looked around the lobby as they came in, curious. High ceilings, very open. Furniture the same shade of red as the columns was scattered around, and most of the rest was all glass and light wood and metal. “What kinda dance is it? Like, couples or something?”

“Not this time, no. We’ve each got a solo set. Hey, Samera!” 

The woman at the desk looked up with a smile. “Hey! Leo, still?”

“Danny’s fine.” 

Callum furrowed his brow in confusion at Danny, but Danny just mouthed, _Later._ Samera didn’t falter. “Got it. Who’s this?”

“Callum! He hangs around after school sometimes, so I thought he’d probably have more fun here over an office building.” 

“I don’t blame you,” she said to him rather than Danny. He could just about see her eyes crinkle with another smile past the glare on her glasses from her computer screen. “Good to meet you, Callum. I’m Samera.” 

Past the immediate response of, _Yeah, I know_ that jumped to his lips, Callum gave her a short wave. 

“Now, I just need you to write your name for me right here, and…” She tugged open a desk drawer and handed him a little badge. “Pin that on your shirt for me, and we’re solid!” 

Name written and badge pinned, Danny and Callum were off. 

“It’s a pretty small class,” Danny remarked as they went down a set of stairs. “Me, four others, and our instructor.” 

“‘Kay.” 

“This way.” 

Around one last corner was an open door. Music spilled into the hall, and Callum could hear someone laughing. 

A handful of people waited inside. Two sat on the ground, one rubbing the other’s shoulders. Callum recognized the guy as the one with the undercut that Danny matched with the whole black-and-white makeup look. The woman he was with had long, dark locs in a thick braid. Another one was fiddling with a tripod on the far side of the room, squinting through round glasses. 

The woman on the ground noticed them first. “Hey, Danny!” 

“Hey. I was gonna ask how you are but…” Danny gestured to the guy behind her. “It seems like you’re doing pretty good.”

“Mhm,” she replied with closed eyes, shifting back to lean into the thumbs digging into her shoulders. 

“This’s Callum, by the way. Callum, this is Dinah.” A wave from the woman. “Sloane.” Undercut guy shot him a smile. “And Reese.” The one by the camera nodded in a short greeting as they fussed with it. 

Before Callum could say a word, he caught the sound of footsteps pounding through the hall. He and Danny barely had time to get out of the way before two new people crashed through the door. 

“Made it!” the guy panted. 

The girl checked her phone. No missing that she was the one who was with Danny in all those makeup pictures, not with the bright pink hair. “Right on time, _hell_ yes.” 

They high-fived. Danny snorted, then said to Callum, “And _this_ is Levi and Elfie.” 

“Go do a lap around the building." Dinah leaned further into Sloane's hands. “I don’t want to get up yet.” 

Levi and Elfie met eyes. Levi got two steps out the door before Elfie caught him by the arm, and he sent Dinah a despondent look. 

“Would that I could, Mrs. Cross. Would that I could.” 

Dinah rolled her eyes, then accepted the hand from Sloane to get to her feet. It was only then that Callum noticed the swell at her stomach. Pregnant? Maybe. He was pretty sure that was the sort of thing you weren’t supposed to ask, for… some reason. _Maybe._

“Massage train can get back on the rails after class,” Reese called. “C’mon, warm-ups.”

Callum followed behind Danny to a bench running along the wall on the far side of the room. Seemed like as good a place to sit as any — more comfortable than the floor, at least. 

Right as he settled next to Danny's bag, one more person came in. He looked kind of like a smaller version Reese — tan skin, reddish-brown hair, glasses. His were bright green rectangles instead of dark brown circles. 

As the kid came over to the bench, Callum realized he recognized him. Same school, same grade. Different class. 

Callum couldn’t remember his name for the life of him. Crap. 

“Oh, hey!” The kid looked a little surprised, but he definitely recognized Callum in return. “Titi Reese said Danny said he was gonna bring someone with him today.” 

“Hey.” He waited, but the other kid didn’t say a name. Maybe he thought they both remembered each other’s and didn’t need to ask. _Crap._

The kid flopped onto the bench next to him, feet bouncing. “So, uh. Do you do dance?”

“No.” Callum shrugged.

“Oh.”

Silent for a bit. Callum scratched his wrist.

“Do… you?”

The kid nodded. “Yeah, some. I’m not in a class right now, but Titi Reese shows me stuff when I visit, sometimes.”

“What’s _titi?”_

“S’what I call them.” Pulling up his feet to sit cross-legged, the kid’s knees bounced in place. He was as fidgety as Danny. “Using Tio or Tia would be weird, since they’re not a boy or a girl or nothin’.”

“Oh.” Must be why Callum couldn’t really tell. “Okay.”

…Did his name start with an R, maybe? 

_R_ jogged no memories, because the universe was out to get Callum or something. 

Reese’s voice cut through that thought. “Alright, who wants to go first?”

A pause, then Elfie threw her hand in the air. The others cleared a space in moments, and Levi whooped through his cupped hands as music started up. 

The kid next to him bounced a little where they sat. “Hers is super cool, watch.”

It started slow. Kind of boring. Lot of looking right at the camera with shifts in where she held her arms. Then, with a sudden pound of drums, Elfie's body jerked in harsh, wild movements. 

There were some pieces that looked as cool as the other kid promised, like when she went flat on her back then jackknifed to her feet, but along with those were parts that Callum didn’t really get. The sound that rang out when her hand flew to cover her eyes made him wonder if it hurt to smack herself in the face like that. Later, she was on the floor again, and the way she twisted there for a moment just confused him. 

Still, when she froze on her feet again with one hand in the air, he clapped along with the rest. As Elfie wiped her forehead and joined Reese at the camera to watch the video, the other kid turned to Callum.

“Really cool, right?”

Callum shrugged with a scrunched nose. “I dunno. Parts of it made her look weird.” 

“Um.” The kid’s brows furrowed. “You’re being kind of a jerk.” 

Before Callum could do anything but blink with a slightly open mouth, Levi took Elfie’s place in the middle of the room. 

After Levi tugged some of his bright blue curls into a hair clip to keep it out of his face, he shook out his hands, then his arms, then his legs. “Let’s go!” 

“You sure?” Reese teased. “Maybe you need to wave around more like you’re outside a used car sale or something.” 

Levi stared at them, then his arms flew up in the air and swept back and forth. “There.”

“Terrific.” Another beat as they messed with the camera, then the next track started up. 

There wasn’t any slow start here. Every second had some new, fast move to it, without any of the big swooping movements that showed up in Elfie’s. Levi’s feet almost never stopped moving, and he traded through a dozen different, over-exaggerated facial expressions the whole time. Callum had never heard the song , but the way the kid next to him mouthed along, he must have watched this set before, too. 

His was over as fast as it began — dropped down into the splits, immediately back up on his feet, then he was off with one last popped foot behind him. 

The other kid had bounced in place all during that one, and as soon as the music stopped, he leapt to his feet. “The beat to that one’s so good, like—” 

Callum watched, wide-eyed, as the kid burst into a bit of the crazy-fast footwork Levi did just a minute before. 

“Right?” 

“Uh, yeah. For sure.” Callum nodded. There was a question in there, probably. 

“Hell yeah, Felix!” called Levi. 

Elfie elbowed him. “He’s showing you up, no question.” 

Oh, thank g-d. _Felix._ Now Callum didn’t have to admit he didn’t remember his name. 

As Levi watched the video with Reese, Felix sat back down, kicking his feet out in front of him. Callum shifted on the bench.

“Um. Sorry.” He dug a thumbnail into the heel of his palm. “For earlier.”

Felix stared at him, shoving his glasses back on from where dancing had started to make them slip. “For what?” Blink. “Oh! Oh, it’s fine. Whatever.”

Dinah took the floor next. As the music started up, she shook her hair loose from its braid, then walked towards the camera and hit the next beat with a wide stance. 

If Elfie’s dance was wild and Levi’s was quick, Dinah was fluid. Callum wondered if dancing while pregnant — she _was_ pregnant, right? — was hard, but she didn’t look like she had any trouble. 

“How’s she doing that?” Callum whispered to Felix as Dinah dropped down to land on her hands, then rolled back up to stand. 

Felix shrugged a little as he swayed to the beat. “I think Titi Reese said that this is the last more intense one she’s gonna do for a bit? She’s allowed to keep dancing and all, but stuff that’s less _big_ than this one.”

Rather than stop the music when she strode off, she traded places with Sloane, who took his own place in the middle.

“Are they using the same song?”

“Mhm,” Felix answered. “They’re married, so sometimes they do joint stuff like this even when it’s not couples dances or whatever. I think the people who watch all their stuff online like it.” 

Sloane was fluid like Dinah, but scattered with a lot of sharp, clean halts. Some movements flowed from one to the next, some had those snaps between. It was kind of cool to see how similar he was to Dinah in some places and how different in others. 

It wasn’t until right then that Callum realized they were dressed similarly, too: a black tank top and yellow pants for Dinah, and a black shirt that stopped at the bottom of his ribs with the same sort of pants for Sloane. Huh. 

Sloane leaned back as the song faded out, then with one last look at the camera, turned and walked out of the center. Before anyone had a chance to do anything but cheer, Felix popped up off the bench, jumping in place.

“Can I do mine? The one I have for Levi’s music, can I?”

Reese looked over the rest of the class as if checking it was okay, but they were already clearing space for him. Felix grinned wide and shook Callum by the shoulder.

“Watch, watch watch!” 

Callum didn’t even have time to reply before Felix was off into the middle of the room, bouncing on his toes as Reese pulled up the song from before.

The moves Felix fell into were pretty similar to Levi’s, but it was still cool. Really fast, really animated, even with the same big expressions Levi had. Halfway through, Levi jumped in from his place on the side and joined, mirroring Felix just behind him. Instead of the splits at the end, he hit the ground on one knee to fold his arms and throw a smug grin at the camera, which Felix copied. 

As soon as the song ended, Felix knocked hard into Levi’s side, laughing the whole time. He waved an excited hand at Callum.

“Come on, come see the video!” 

It took a second to shove down the surprise at being pulled into all the stuff happening here when Callum expected to just keep on the sidelines, but he joined Felix and Reese by the camera.

Seeing it from the front rather than the side made it look even cooler with the ways Felix and Levi matched up as they moved. The beat made his head bob as he watched, and he couldn’t help smiling the whole way through. 

Once the video-version of Levi and Felix hit the ground, Reese shooed them off. “C’mon, let Sloane and Dinah watch theirs, too.”

As they fell back, Danny came up to Callum’s side. “So?”

Callum made a face at him. “So, what?” 

“So, what do you think about all this mess?”

Shrug. “It’s alright, I guess.” 

“Uh-huh.” Danny mussed his hair. “Guess we’ll just have to see if I can earn something a little more than _alright,_ huh?”

“What’s yours like?” 

Brows up, Danny said, “What, indeed?”

Before Callum could do more than make another face, the door opened.

“I’m not crashing the party, am I?”

Danny lit up. “Tim, hey!” Good thing Tim figured out tangibility enough to open the door. Could’ve been real awkward, there. 

Reese waved him in. “Come on in. You’re Danny’s brother, right?”

“Yeah. Danny’s talked about me?” 

“Only bad things, of course,” Danny answered cheerfully.

“Of course.”

Sloane came over first, hand outstretched to shake. “Sloane Cross.” 

Tim stared at it. “Uh—”

One of Danny’s own hands flew up to his forehead. “Y’know, I can’t believe the germaphobia never came up when I talked about you, or I would’ve given everyone a heads up.” He shrugged with an apologetic smile. “Happens when you’re used to it, I guess.”

“Right.” Tim nodded. “Huge germaphobe. Sorry.” 

“Oh, no worries.” Sloane’s hand dropped. Behind him, Dinah nodded as if she’d expected this. 

The others went in a round robin of names, then Tim said, “Didn’t mean to interrupt class, I must have gotten the time wrong. Should I—”

“You’ve got great timing, actually.” Reese gestured back to the camera. “Danny was just about to go through his solo.” 

Callum stayed off the bench for this one. He wanted to see it head on. Tim must have had the same thought, and they both leaned against the wall behind where Reese had the camera rather than go to the bench on the side. 

“Germaphobe?” Callum muttered to Tim. Tim shrugged.

“Danny’s lie, not mine. Take it up with him.”

Felix came up on Callum’s other side, cutting off that line of conversation real quick. 

“Danny’s are _so_ weird, watch. It’s awesome.”

Unlike the rest, Danny started in a chair, elbows on his knees and head dropped. As the music started, he sat up, but not like normal. He moved like some kind of bizarre animatronic, all weirdly smooth and stiff. If Callum hadn’t watched him sit down, he’d have no trouble believing that this was some inanimate doll _thing_ rather than his friend. 

Sloane had those clean stops, Levi had the fast steps. Danny took both those things, added a hell of a dose of _unsettling,_ and cranked it all up to eleven. 

Callum didn’t think arms were supposed to bend like that. _His_ arms didn’t bend like that, anyway. Danny’s did. Weird. Very weird. The most fluid motions still felt robotic, like he was just some well-oiled machine. Even knowing Danny, even having watched him walk here and sit down, it was hard to remember that this was a human person dancing and not some crazy puppet kind of thing. 

Part of him wanted to see what Tim thought, but Callum couldn’t make himself look away. Not until Danny landed back in that chair, bent almost double like his strings had been cut. The music revved to a stop. 

When Danny sat up again, _normally_ this time, Callum was the first to speak.

“What the hell was _that?”_ No hiding the grin. “That was crazy, _what?”_

Felix shoved at his shoulder. “I told you!” 

“Yeah, but holy _crap!”_

Tim shook his head, clearly impressed. “Jesus, Danny.”

Levi folded his arms and set them on top of Danny’s head, then put his chin on top. “Current theory is that he’s a robot.” Elfie rolled her eyes. 

“Look. If I was a robot, I wouldn’t need sleep, and I’ve overslept for work enough times to assure you that that is very much not the case.” 

“Come on." Reese waved them all over. “You want to watch the video, right?”

Danny followed after shaking off Levi, and Callum wasn’t far behind. It took a moment of shuffling around, but eventually Danny, Reese, Callum, and Tim found a way to all fit close enough to watch again.

A second round wasn’t enough to dull how _weird_ it was, but Callum was by no means complaining. Weird, yes. Cool, also yes. 

When it was over, Tim shook his head with another smile. “So, is all your choreography for him all spooky uncanny valley stuff?” 

Reese laughed. “Not all of it, but it’s definitely a big chunk.” 

“Wait.” An idea pulled Danny upright. “Do you still have that one you and I did that one time, with—”

“Oh, yeah, did you want to play that one real quick?” 

“Yeah! May as well show that not _everything_ I do is too spooky.” 

Levi shouted from across the room, “You just want to make me cry again, you bas—” Silenced with Dinah’s hand over his mouth. 

“Yes,” Danny told him despite the interruption. “Yes, I do.”

“Cry?” Clear apprehension. “Oh, boy.”

“You don’t even _know,”_ Levi shouted to Tim past Dinah’s hand.

After a moment of flipping through different options on the camera, Reese pulled up a new video. Danny almost looked _nervous_ about showing this one. Excited, too. 

It started slow, a long beat of him standing alone. Reese came up to his side before long, and they stood together for a moment before Reese reached up, then pushed him hard and sent him reeling to the side. No more pauses after that. 

The dance was technically with Reese, but he spent most of it solo with big, sweeping movements and leaps. His face looked almost pained. Whenever Reese was with him, they would rest their chin on his shoulder for a moment before wrapping an arm around his neck and dragging him to stand, or letting him lean against them for a split second until they shoved him off and watched him crash to the ground. 

This time, Callum did look over at Tim here and there. As Danny onscreen pushed himself across the floor with hands colliding with his head like he was trying to knock something free while Reese watched impassively from behind, Callum turned to see Tim looking about ready to kill someone. 

Weird. 

Levi was starfished on his back on the ground, mouthing along to the lyrics. Sloane returned to rubbing Dinah’s shoulders. Elfie tugged at a needle and thread over one of the Sadler’s Wells bags. Danny did this whole dance in front of them, one about something that must have been really personal if Tim’s face was anything to go by, and they all just went along. They didn’t act weird around him now from what Callum could see. Danny did that, and then they all moved on with their lives. Callum didn’t know what to make of it all. 

He looked back to the camera in time to see Reese reaching up from where they were laying on the ground and Danny extending a hand as if to help them up, then turning and walking away.

“So,” Danny said at last. “What’d you think?”

Tim’s arm shifted at his side like he was going to reach out, to grab Danny by the arm or hug him or something, but it dropped before getting far.

“It was… really, really good, Danny. I mean, Jesus.” Tim shook his head. “You picked all this up fast.” 

Callum couldn’t read the face Reese made at that, but they were clearly thinking _something._ Whatever it was, they didn’t say. Didn’t hang around, either — instead, they stepped away from the three of them to start taking apart their tripod. 

Danny shrugged a little. “It’s just— It’s nice to learn somewhere else, y’know?” 

No, Callum didn’t know. Apparently Tim got what he meant, because he nodded without asking.

“Alright, gang, let’s take ten." Some adjustments to the camera, then Reese went on. “After we get back, we’ll talk about stuff you guys want to tighten up before we do the final recordings.”

“What do you do with this stuff?” Tim asked.

“Oh, Reese keeps up a YouTube channel.” Danny stretched as he explained, “It’s not, like, earth-shatteringly popular, but we’ve got some pretty consistent views.” 

“Take a shot every time a comment says they want Danny to take his shirt off,” Levi called from the ground. “Die immediately.” 

Reese rolled their eyes. “I’m gonna put a notice in the about of the next video to tell people to knock that off.” 

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s creepy,” Reese interrupted before Danny could protest. “Me telling them to cut it out isn’t some huge inconvenience or anything. It’s like, seven added words.” 

“Well—”

“If people were being weird towards the others, you’d be the first to say I should say something. Stop arguing.” 

Danny accepted it after that, and Tim made an amused face. 

“Never knew it was as easy as _stop arguing._ Normally getting his stubborn ass to agree with anything takes ten Gregorian years.”

Dinah laughed. “It’s because you’re the oldest. I’m pretty sure younger siblings have _not listening to us_ hardcoded into their DNA.” 

As the others chatted, Callum wandered back over to join Felix the bench as Felix read some book. 

“You got assigned _Peter Pan_ too?” 

Felix nodded with a scowl. “I like reading, but this one’s boring. I never like the books they assign us.”

“They’re _always_ boring. I think that’s part of the requirement.” 

Emphatically slamming the book shut, Felix nodded. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then spoke all in a rush: _“I’msorryIdon’tactuallyrememberyournamewhatisitsorry.”_

Callum blinked. “What.”

“I, um.” Felix squirmed where he said. “I don’t actually remember your name, I— I know we’re in the same grade and all, so I _should,_ but I’m so bad at names and I forgot and I was hoping someone else would say it so I didn’t have to ask but they didn’t and I can’t call for you at recess or something like, _hey other kid I met at Titi Reese’s dance class—”_

When Callum burst out laughing, Felix’s voice trailed off. He looked like he was trying to figure out if he was supposed to be insulted or not.

“What?”

“I just—” Callum laughed again, then tried to reign it in. “I didn’t remember your name either. Not until Levi said it, I had no idea.” 

Felix stared at him for a second, then collapsed into his own laughter. “Oh, my g-d. That’s stupid. We’re stupid.” 

More snickering as Callum scratched at the scar on his wrist. “I’m Callum.” 

“Callum,” Felix repeated as if locking it into his head. “Got it!” 

No recognition. He didn’t already know Callum’s name, and hearing it didn’t make him think about _that kid who—_

It was nice.

Before Callum could think too hard about it, Felix’s brow furrowed. “What’s that?” 

“What’s what?”

“That.” Felix nodded to Callum’s hand. 

In the middle of his palm sat a mark. The same hand he’d reached out with to feel for something in the nothing. One curved line, four small offshoots. Very faint. 

Callum knew that mark. 

“It’s, um.” He swallowed. “Just pen.”

“Oh, okay.” Felix went back to rifling in his bag. Callum tugged his sleeve to cover his hand.

Just pen. Right. 

He would cover it with a plaster when he got home, and that would be that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: brief mentions of abuse, kidnapping, and restraints
> 
> gold star for those who can find the tiny line repetition from hlm, and another for the even tinier repetition from rtd
> 
> speaking of my end!tim series, a heads up for those who've read it: mechanically things will be similar in a lot of ways to the way it worked in rtd, but there will be differences in the way it manifests since tim was a lot more deliberate about choosing the end and becoming an avatar here. don’t be too caught off guard!
> 
> yes i DID find dances reminiscent of how i'm picturing each one from the last scene thank you so much for asking:  
> [elfie](https://youtu.be/J6rn21b9JKU?t=129) | [levi](https://youtu.be/_cbNqoAeRto?t=18) | [dinah](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFsqw2bdnBo) | [sloane](https://youtu.be/VFsqw2bdnBo?t=166) (same song, different set!) | [danny](https://youtu.be/L5_G5YSt4Zk?t=111)  
> [ and the recorded dance](https://youtu.be/VX2-fr78yZU?t=198) (skipped to the second set here, but definitely check out the first one -- it's gorgeous and a COMPLETLY different tone, i love it)
> 
> _[edit: unfortunately the reference for danny's first dance was deleted. i'll replace it with once i can like... actually track down another Spooky Doll Base Pop+Lock but lord knows when that'll be fdgnkjfd]_
> 
> on the horizon: a junior crew sets sail


	6. Canis Minor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[Greek]_ The smaller of two dogs following the mythical hunter Orion in pursuit of a hare, represented by Lepus constellation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay on this one -- my beta and roommate ron got top surgery (!!!!), so helping out w recovery meant putting writing on hold for a bit. back on track now babes
> 
> self promo time. hlm reached 20k hits (which im still losing it over) so i drew some celebratory art, which you can check out [[right here!](https://titanfalling.tumblr.com/post/634426630062964736/head-in-the-lions-mouth-reached-20k-hits-and)]
> 
> cws in end note!
> 
> suggested listening: monster town by go! child  
> [[playlist so far](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtbsflE5_346VAfjhfHlK2PTnEEFj8KNY)]

Callum had heard his name a lot of different ways. Sighed. Shouted. Called at the front of the classroom. Said with the dull monotone of a news anchor. Whispered like a curse, like one more thing they’d have to get rid of before the dark could move in. Coated in thick disappointment or gone sharp and prickly with anger.

He’d heard plenty. Hearing it yelled across the school cafeteria was new.

From a table across the way, Felix bounced on his toes and waved. “Callum! Over here!”

Not like he had a different destination in mind. He came as called.

Felix spared a second to smile brightly at him, then said to the rest, “Callum was at my titi’s dance class yesterday, but we both forgot each other’s names and it was the _worst,_ so everyone say yours now so we don’t have to do all that again.”

He turned first to Callum with an expectant look on his face. Callum’s eyes flicked away, then back, and yep: Felix was still looking at him.

“You already said my name.”

“Everyone means _everyone.”_

Nose scrunched, he obliged. “Callum.”

“Felix!” 

The serious-faced girl on Felix’s other side went next. “Aminah.” She was in the same class as Callum. He tried to remember anything about her, but they never really talked much. All that came to mind was how she was one of the tallest kids in their grade.

“Lexie!” chirped the girl across from Aminah. Her smile made her face look even rounder than before, and it didn’t seem like she cared that her blonde twin buns were half-fallen out.

Next, the kid across from Felix. Callum had never seen him without a nervous expression. “Nicholas.”

“Not Nick!” chorused Lexie and Felix. 

The last one didn’t say anything, just looked up from the stuffed frog in his lap to grin. Both his braces and the random clips scattered through his puff of dark brown curls were rainbow. 

“And that’s Jamal,” Felix finished. “He doesn’t like to talk sometimes.” 

Callum caught Aminah scrutinizing him like she thought he was going to say something weird about that. He might’ve a few months ago, but Danny didn’t talk sometimes too. They spent one of his visits at the Institute throwing a paper airplane back and forth to unfold and write notes on instead. It was fun, especially when Callum threw wide and sent the plane sailing right through Tim’s head. It wasn’t until Callum and Danny cracked up that Tim looked up from the book he was reading to ask what was so funny.

Now, Callum just shrugged. “Okay.”

Introductions complete, Callum and Felix sat at last. Nicholas shifted in his chair. 

“Is Tristan gonna eat lunch here too?”

Felix blinked like he hadn’t thought of that and glanced at Callum. Callum shook his head. 

“He and I don’t really hang out anymore.” 

Nicholas sighed in clear relief, and Lexie furrowed her brows. “Aren’t you guys cousins or something?”

“Yeah, and he’s a _huge_ jerk.” Nicholas poked at the beans on his tray with his fork. “He always calls me Nick.”

“Just don’t respond when they call you the wrong thing,” Aminah advised. “That’s what I do.”

Nicholas took a disheartened bite. “Yeah, I guess.”

An idea sparked in Callum’s head. “Next time he calls you that, tell him to cut it out or you’ll tell everyone that he still wet the bed when he was eleven.” 

Fork frozen in midair, Nicholas jerked up to stare at Callum. “Really?” Jamal’s round eyes peered over where his plushie was pressed to his mouth, but Callum thought he was laughing a little. 

Lexie’s head tilted. “Is that _too_ mean?”

“S’why you only do it if he’s mean first,” Callum answered around a bite of melon. He’d assumed Aminah would be the sort to say it was bad, but she looked approving. It wasn’t too much of a surprise now that he thought about it — she was the one to suggest the silent treatment first, after all.

Conversation turned to enthusiastic complaining about schoolwork. Callum was starting to think that no one on _Earth_ liked _Peter Pan._

“I’m just saying it would be _way_ cooler if Peter was a pirate too!” Felix exclaimed with a wave of his spoon.

“The pirates are the bad guys,” Nicholas argued. “So joining them would make _Peter_ a bad guy.” 

“A bad guy with a cool boat.”

“That’s dumb.” 

_“You’re_ dumb.” 

Lexie interrupted with a pound of her fist into her opposite palm. “Needs more ghosts.” 

“You think everything needs more ghosts,” Aminah replied. Lexie nodded enthusiastically. 

“Everything _does_ need more ghosts. Ghosts are cool.”

Nicholas took a bite of his baked potato. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Yeah, and people don’t have to get their shadows sewn back on.” Aminah shrugged. “Who cares. It’s a book.”

“Ghosts _are_ real, also.” From Lexie’s tone, it was clear she and Nicholas had this argument plenty of times before. 

“She’s right,” Callum said before Nicholas could argue. “Ghosts are for _sure_ real.” 

“How do you know?” Nicholas asked skeptically. 

He… probably shouldn’t tell them about Tim, right? That seemed like the sort of thing that was meant to be a secret. He could keep it vague.

“I hang around the Magnus Institute a lot. There’s a ton of crazy things there.”

Jamal was back to toying with his stuffed frog, but he scooted forward in his chair and tilted his head like he was listening. Callum took it as an invitation to continue. 

“The first time I went, these big gross monsters attacked the whole place. I stabbed one of ‘em.” 

Nicholas’s face screwed up. “No way.” 

“I did, too!” Callum nudged Felix. “Danny was there, he could tell you.” 

Past his glasses, Felix’s eyes went wide. “Woah.” 

“Who’s Danny?” Aminah asked. 

“He’s in my titi’s dance class. Callum’s…” He turned to Callum. “Brother? Cousin?”

Callum shook his head. “Friend.” 

Lexie bounced in her seat. “There’s ghosts there?” The side talk wouldn’t distract her from more important matters.

“Sometimes.” Tim hadn’t stopped his random walks around London, so it was a coin toss most days. Apparently it had to do with whatever death thing he had now, but he didn’t say much when Callum asked what that even _meant._

“Can I meet one?” 

“Uh.” Callum hadn’t planned this far. “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Me, too,” Nicholas said.

Lexie shifted, and from the way Nicholas jumped, she must have poked him in the ribs. “I thought you didn’t believe in them.”

“I don’t. So I want to meet one if it’s there.”

Lexie stuck her tongue out at him. Nicholas stuck his out right back. 

“If there’s something cool, I’ll tell you guys.” Callum tossed a grape up in the air and attempted to catch it, but only got smacked in the nose for his trouble. “Ow.” 

“Nice.” 

Callum elbowed Felix, who laughed. Aminah sat up. 

“Watch this.” 

Three blueberries flew up, and in a count of _one, two, three,_ she caught each one in turn. When the rest of them applauded, she bowed shortly. 

The rest of their lunch period devolved into them proving who was best at catching food from midair. Aminah had them all beat without question, while Jamal was _fantastically_ terrible. It just made him laugh, though, so much so that Callum wondered if he was screwing it up for the joke. They kept at it up until one of the lunch aides came over to tell them to knock it off before _everyone_ started throwing food. 

Aminah nodded all serious and apologized to the aide, but as soon as his back was turned, she tossed and caught two more blueberries. Callum was sure he pulled a muscle trying to stifle his laughter so he wouldn’t sell her out. 

There was no way the cold that came with talk about sewing on shadows could survive in the middle of all this. Callum nearly managed to forget about the plaster stuck to his palm, too. 

Nearly.

  
  


* * *

_“We won’t be gone any longer than a week. Hopefully not even that.”_

_“…Promise?”_

_“Promise.”_

Callum drifted back and forth in his chair, letting his knees knock against the inside of the desk, then the other side, then back again. The archives were always quiet, but today cranked it up even more. Melanie was at her desk for a bit, then made some huffy noise and charged off out of nowhere. Tim did the same a while later, but he traded the huff for a short, “Duty calls,” and some attempted nonchalance.

Just Callum and the half-open door to Jon’s office, now. 

What was so interesting about Alexandria, anyway? The flight there was as long as one of Callum’s school days, Danny said, and apparently he wasn’t even sure how long he and Basira would be gone. 

No more than a week, though. He promised.

Some old library had to be worth it. Supposedly. According to someone. Danny said Basira had a “source” that told her going there was a good idea. Made a face when he said it, though, one Callum couldn’t read. 

Just a week. Callum could sit around and wait until then. 

He could if he didn’t _die_ of _boredom_ first. 

A voice interrupted Callum’s musing over how long it’d take to stuff all of Danny’s desk drawers with ninja stars.

“Callum?” Jon shifted where he stood in his office door. “Um, if you aren’t busy.”

Homework could wait for the moment. Or for the always. “What?”

“Danny just sent me a text asking you to…” He squinted at his phone screen. “Apparently he texted Martin asking what souvenirs Martin might like and hasn’t gotten a reply. He wanted you to go up and ask since…” Another squint. _“He_ _isn’t enough of a d—_ a-a rude individual _to ignore a kid.”_

The censoring made Callum roll his eyes. “Just that?”

“Just that, but, um… I’ll let you know if that changes.” His fingers danced along the side of his phone. “And… ask— or, tell him, um… tell him—"

“What, that date night’s on?”

Jon went somehow both ashen and pink. Oops. 

“No, just…” A sigh, then Jon shook his head. “Nothing, I suppose.” 

“Um, okay.” Weird. Whatever. 

Charging up to the second level didn’t take long, even when Callum paused to snag a blackberry drop from Rosie on the way. Like always, he was sure he could feel the temperature drop as he went upstairs, and today was even worse than normal. 

No dwelling on that when he could hear conversation from Martin’s office. Eavesdropping hadn’t gone _great_ the last time, but there was no reason to assume that would be the case again. It was probably a good idea to make sure he wasn’t intruding on something super important, curiosity aside. 

“All I’m saying is, if he has some kind of secret information, he had to get it from somewhere. He gave us the start, so let’s _run with it!_ ” Melanie. She sounded kind of pissed. “Now we know that there’s some other threat, and we know that there’s something below the—”

“But if he already _has_ that information, then redoing all his legwork doesn’t make _sense.”_

He, being…? The Peter guy that Martin worked for, maybe? 

“But he _doesn’t,_ you said he has to keep going out and finding more!” 

“He has _leads.”_

“And he’s not the only damn person on Earth to have any! I mean, Danny and Basira are in _Alexandria,_ and if that’s not a hell of a source of—”

So Alexandria was a bigger deal than Callum thought. Still, if it took longer than a week, he was well within his right to be mad. Promises, and all.

“If that was the only reason I started working here, maybe, but it _isn’t.”_

“Oh, fuck _off!_ Get off the martyr trip and talk to—”

“I _can’t._ That’s the point! Of _all_ of this! Can you just—”

They could bicker all day, but Callum didn’t want to hang around in this chilly hallway any longer than he had to. Listening to them go in circles was not a _had to_ situation. He knocked, then opened the door before either of them answered. 

Both Martin and Melanie stared. Callum stared back. 

“Um.” Martin sat again. He was a good bit taller than Melanie, but Callum knew there was no chance in hell Melanie would back down because of that even if he hadn’t interrupted. “Callum, right?” 

“Danny said you were ignoring his text.”

Melanie rolled her eyes with a snort. To Martin, she said, “And you really think this whole isolation thing is gonna stick? Because now you’re getting _messenger boys.”_

Two glares, one from Martin, the other from Callum. She reacted to neither. 

“He wants to know if you want any souvenirs,” Callum went on when he gave up the evil eye as a lost cause. “From Alexandria, I guess.” 

A few expressions crossed Martin’s face in quick succession, ones that probably meant more to Melanie. Callum couldn’t say he cared. No missing the somewhat snide hook to his reply, though.

“Sure. I’d love the perfect bit of information about the tool under the Institute and all its secrets.” He turned back to his computer in clear dismissal. “Failing that, some chocolates would be just fine.”

Melanie’s mouth opened like she was about to kick off another round of that argument, but before she could say a word, a shout from further down the hall interrupted. One from their own library. 

For all his effort to act like he didn’t care about stuff around here, when Melanie and Callum rushed out of the office to see what was going on, Martin kept right on their heels. Two steps in showed the pool of water slowly leaking from the library door, but none of them stopped in their tracks. 

Callum didn’t know what he expected. Water flooding in torrents from the ceiling wasn’t it. 

Inside, Hannah moved like a hurricane, snatching books from the shelves in twos and threes and stacking them on a cart at her side. Her pants were soaked up to the knees, but despite how cold Callum knew the water was when it began to seep into his shoes, she didn’t look like she even noticed. A couple staff members Callum didn’t recognize were with her, all with as many books as they could carry. One used a desk chair as a makeshift trolly, and another ferried them over to the still-dry front desk to stack them on top. 

“What— What the hell happened?!” 

Hannah didn’t spare a glance at the door when Melanie called out. “Pipe burst. Come _on,_ we need to keep as many of these as dry as we can.” 

No kidding. A couple shelves were already waterlogged from top to bottom. The pages couldn’t be any more than inky sludge now. Freezing, inky sludge, still all bound up. Gross.

“Good lord.” The sudden voice from behind Callum made him startle. Big guy, ginger. Vaguely familiar. “I… imagine checking out a book is out of the question right now.”

He got no more of Hannah’s attention than the others. “Bit busy, but I wouldn’t say no to the extra hands.” 

New guy looked sidelong at Callum. Who wore a scarf in March? “Do as the lady asks, shall we?” 

Martin rushed off to find a custodian or something — _anyone_ who might know how to stop the flood. Until then, Callum, Melanie, Hannah, the other staff, and new guy moved books. The icy water filling his shoes made his skin crawl, but he’d live. Lot of the books wouldn’t. It wasn’t as if he was too interested in reading them. 

“If we find another _damn note_ on the steps,” Melanie hissed as she passed Callum. “I’m going to lose my _mind.”_

And… yeah, this sounded a lot like the first one, before they even knew it was a _first._ Burst pipe, cold water, destroyed stuff. By the time everything that could be saved was all moved away from the line of fire — well, _water_ — and the downpour had at last slowed, Callum thought his arms were going to fall off. 

Still, he went to inspect the books right under the burst pipe before getting around to complaints. Just as he thought: ice crystals. Cold water, just like before.

New guy came up to his side. “Strange thing to happen out of nowhere.”

Callum shrugged. “I guess.” While he could explain that it might _not_ be out of nowhere, he didn’t know this guy. Everyone at the Institute he met so far was fine, though. Least there was that.

“Callum, right?”

Immediate suspicion, but everyone in _London_ knew his name at one point. Older people were the ones who remembered that kind of thing. “Yeah, why?”

New guy furrowed his brows, probably at Callum’s tone — not that he cared — then blinked with some understanding. “Oh! You might have forgotten, but we met a couple of weeks ago. Quite literally ran into each other, in fact.” 

Right. Cigar guy. “You got a name, then?”

“Jan,” cigar guy answered with a slight smile. He put out one hand. Bemused and more than a little cold, Callum shook. The skin under his fingers was dry and papery. Windchapped.

“Right.” Jan and Callum watched as Hannah, Melanie, and the others puttered around the desk, trying to find any more salvageable books. No way any on the shelves at their backs counted. 

Sighing, Jan looked over the damage around them. “Such a waste. So much information, just… destroyed. It’s probably too much to hope that the one I was hoping to check out survived.” 

Callum shrugged. “There’s a lot of ‘em left, still. Unless more pipes break.” 

“Much simpler to prevent that if we stop whatever creature _did_ it, wouldn’t you say?” Jan remarked. “There must be plenty of beasts around this place that could.”

“I guess. I don’t know how we would, though.” They hadn’t had any luck finding the one who was messing with Basira so far, and the others knew more about how to do all this. Probably. 

That was assuming the same one did it, though. No note around here from what Callum could tell. Maybe it _was_ kelpies this time, just like Melanie had said with the first bell. He couldn’t see what the Institute library had to do with Basira in particular. It was all personal stuff. Her flat, her parents’ graves, all that. This wasn’t the same. 

“What do you mean, _beasts?”_

“Places like the Institute are often a sort of beacon to other creatures in this world, just by the energy surrounding it alone. Any number of the sort capable of this could be one of them.”

“Huh.”

“Still, a beast is a beast, supernatural or no. Law of the wild, isn’t it?” Jan adjusted his scarf. “Something harms you and yours, you harm it back. Prove that you aren’t someone to trifle with.” 

It made sense. Callum wouldn’t be opposed to socking Rayner in the nose — or, wouldn’t if the guy wasn’t already dead. 

Messing with the library didn’t hurt _Callum,_ but Hannah looked upset. Almost as upset as when he’d messed with Juno. Not angry. Eyes watering, upset. Looking over all the damage with that sort of blankness that came with no idea where to begin, upset. _Can’t do anything,_ upset. 

He made her upset before. Now, missing half their monster fighters and a good chunk of their brains, there weren’t many others who could help fix this. 

No magic wand to wave and undo all the ice and water that ruined everything. No faith, trust, and pixie dust. 

“Yeah,” Callum said at last to Jan. “Guess so.” 

He couldn’t fix it all with magic. At the very least, he could try and catch the monster that caused it all so it wouldn’t hurt anything else.

Jan smiled like Callum had gotten the answer to an exam just right.

“Good hunting.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Callum set his lunch tray down on their table, then looked over the rest one by one.

“You guys wanted to meet a ghost?”

None of them responded, but he got a variety of wide eyes. Good enough.

“I’ve got something _better.”_

  
  


* * *

Everyone else was geared up and ready to go on the Institute steps. Pretty good array, considering the short notice. 

“What’s a Super Soaker gonna do?” Nicholas asked. “It probably lives _in_ water, Callum said.” 

Lexie adjusted its strap over her shoulder. “I thought you didn’t think it was real.”

“Yeah, but if it _is—”_

“If it _is,_ I don’t think it’ll like getting hit with a big water gun! It’s super heavy when it’s all full up. One time I hit my little brother with it when he tried to steal it, and he had to get stitches!” Lexie said brightly.

“…Oh.”

“What about you?” Felix shoved back his bike helmet before it could fall in his face even more. 

“I’m gonna go get mine,” Callum answered. “Be right back.” 

They kept an old metal bat in the archives, Callum knew. He’d considered bringing something from home instead, but if he broke it or lost it, he didn’t think either of his parents would buy _monster hunting_ as a good excuse. The Institute people would have to expect stuff like that, though. They probably had a special budget for replacing stuff monsters ate. 

No time to pause and get a strawberry drop from Rosie, first. Too much to do. 

By some blessing, the archives were almost empty. Jon’s office door sat a little open, but he sounded busy. Callum could be in and out before Jon knew anyone else was there.

“And you haven’t asked Helen to just— just _bring_ you back? I thought you two got on well.”

_“I mean, as well as you can with something like her.”_ Danny’s voice, all crackly with distance. _“But asking her for anything at this point is risky. It’s not like she helped with Melanie out of the goodness of her heart.”_

“What do you mean?” 

Callum spent half his focus shamelessly listening in, half scanning the room. King of multitasking.

_“I didn't have some favor I could call on or something._ She’s _the one who played escape route more than a few times last year, and helped with Jared on top of that. That trend’s not going to hold. There’s going to be a turnaround, sooner rather than later. Any help will cost more, assuming she doesn’t go for sabotage anyway.”_

“I assumed you two had some sort of… _understanding,_ or something along those lines. You certainly speak to her more than the rest of us.”

_“Yeah, the understanding that she wasn’t keen on me shattering all her mirrors before and isn’t keen on it happening again.”_

“…I see.”

_“I’m sure you do.”_

There, by Melanie’s desk — the bat. Beatrix, Tim called it one time. Plenty good for monster-hitting. 

_“Besides, even if I use my own stuff to get there, I know London too well to show up anywhere close, and I’m not leaving Basira by herself right now.”_

“Right. Like I said, we can’t even be sure it’s related, but—”

_“But better safe than sorry. We found a couple of things yesterday that should help if we figure out what the hell they mean. Or how to read them.”_

“We’ll do what we can.”

Just needed to walk light and quick. Callum was good at that. Get the bat and go.

_“Right. Basira and I should be back within the next day or so.”_

Bat: get. Halfway there. 

“Understood. Travel safe, both of you.”

_“Will do. Tell the others we said hey.”_

A rustle from Jon’s office, and the tap of plastic against wood. The distraction was over. Just a couple of meters to the door though, then he was home free. 

“Callum?”

Crap.

He turned, trying to be nonchalant. “Yeah?”

Jon stood in the doorway to his office, clearly nonplussed. “May I ask what you’re doing?”

“Uh-huh.” Small step back, and another.

“Then… what _are_ you doing?”

Callum went to say _nothing_ or _hanging out with friends_ or _something_ that might get him out of here, but instead heard himself answer, “Me and my friends are gonna find the thing that messed up the library before it can mess it up even more.” 

_Double_ crap. What happened to keeping this whole mission a secret? Did he leave his filter at home or something?

What Jon thought about their plan, Callum couldn’t tell, but his brow knit. “You’re… going monster hunting?”

_“Someone’s_ got to.” Defensiveness crept into his voice, already steeling himself for the shutdown. Jon was going to tell him no, and the others would have to go home, and then they’d just think he was crazy or a liar or trying to play a trick on them and it was all going to _suck._

“Then…” Jon ducked back into his office, then returned with his cane in one hand and coat in the other. “You should probably have some supervision.” 

Callum blinked. “What?”

“It could be dangerous,” Jon said briskly as he crossed to join Callum. “So, an adult should come with you.” 

“You’re gonna let us do it?”

“I’m sure if I tried to tell you not to, you’d figure out some way to set out regardless.” 

Callum smothered his smile. Jon hadn’t earned a _cool_ verdict yet, but _not yet_ wasn’t _never._

“Everyone else is outside,” he explained instead as he led the way back upstairs. It took a minute with Jon’s cane, but it wasn’t like they had to worry about losing a spot of good weather. No, today was grey and gloomy. The soot-colored clouds above hadn’t budged for the past week.

“Why do you use a cane?” 

Callum didn’t realize the question had slipped out of his mouth until Jon looked up from grumbling at the steps to stare at him. He didn’t leave his filter at home — he left it on _Mars_. Triple crap. 

By some miracle, Jon didn’t seem insulted, only caught off guard. “I have a disability called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, which largely expresses itself in joint hypermobility. For me, at least — there’s quite a few other types. That plus a rather nasty knee injury while I was in uni means…” They at last reached the top of the steps, and Jon held the aide in question up. “Cane.” 

“Oh.” The first part kind of went over his head, but the knee injury made sense. “Okay.” He held open the door as Jon tugged his coat on, then together they joined the rest. 

Introductions first. He’d learned his lessons, there. “This is Jon. He’s the archivist or whatever, and he’s gonna help us out.” 

Felix waved, and Lexie shouted a _hello._ Jon scanned the lot of them — Lexie and the water gun, Felix decked out in his bike helmet and pads, Aminah with the same sort of helmet and a field hockey stick, Nicholas in tall galoshes with an old tennis racket, and Jamal with a matching cricket bat and helmet. Unlike Felix, he had an excuse for a too-big helmet considering he borrowed _his_ from his older brother.

Callum thought they pulled together pretty well, but from the look on his face, he wasn’t sure that Jon agreed.

“And what exactly is your… plan? For finding it.”

“Well, places like the Institute are a beacon to other monsters and stuff, right?” 

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose, yes. Where did you learn that?”

“Around. I’m here, like, all the time.” Callum shrugged. “And if the thing messed with the water pipes, I thought it might be hanging around near the Thames. Ghost sorts stick to the same path, right? So it probably sticks near water.”

“I’m not sure this is something we can blame on a ghost.”

“Yeah, but we gotta start _somewhere.”_

The others’ heads flipped back and forth between him and Jon as they talked like it was a tennis match. Callum would just have to nab Nicholas’s racket and he’d be good to go. 

“Well,” Jon said after a moment to think. “You’re right that it’s as logical a place as any to begin. And your plan is to just… walk down the Thames until something catches your eye?”

“We were gonna bike!” Felix chimed in. “But Callum doesn’t have—” Callum elbowed him before he could finish, hard enough that he heard the air rush out of Felix’s lungs. _“Ow, hey!”_

“Yeah, walking,” Aminah finished over them both. 

Jon nodded. “Then I hope you don’t mind a slower pace. Shall w—”

“What are you doing?” 

When Callum saw how Jon made the exact same face Callum knew he did when caught doing something he shouldn’t, he almost laughed. “Nothing you need to— to worry about, Melanie, just— We’ll be gone and back in a moment, so—”

“What. Are. You. Doing?”

Jon only held out a moment under the force of her scrutiny, and he sighed. “Callum and his school friends were… _interested_ in sweeping the area, a-and finding what they could about what _may have_ damaged our library.” 

There was a long silence before Melanie answered. “And you’re letting them.”

“If there’s one lesson my dadima learned raising me,” Jon replied. “It’s that if we tell them no, they’ll do it anyway with added effort to hide it from us.” 

Another silence, then Melanie let out a put-upon sigh. “Fine. Fine, then.” She tugged her coat shut and tied the belt tight around her waist. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t turn down another chaperone.”

Before Jon could say anything to match the relief on his face, Callum whipped around to the others with an excited grin. 

“This is Melanie — she fought those monsters I told you guys about too!” Still one of the coolest things he’d ever seen. “She had this _huge_ knife, and she was just— jumping on their backs and stabbing and slashing like _crazy,_ it was _awesome.”_

The other kids all turned to stare in awe at Melanie as she tugged a few trapped curls out from under her coat collar with a little smile. 

“Really?”

Melanie turned that smile to Aminah, who went pink. “Really really. It’s no big thing, just another day in the office. ” 

Callum took the lead, still emphatically describing the fight to the others complete with the same arm gestures he used when gushing right after it happened so long ago — whole _months._ He only just caught Jon muttering to Melanie, “All I got was _archivist or whatever.”_

“You should stab more monsters, then,” she shot back, flippant. “Maybe attach a knife to your cane.”

“That seems like a health and safety hazard.”

“This is why you just got _archivist or whatever.”_

Battersea Park seemed like a good place to start, in Callum’s mind. One path ran close to the Thames, and there were some other bodies of water scattered around inside that they could check out while they were close. 

Also, Callum saw a bike shop when he walked through on his way home not too long ago. His birthday was soon. Maybe— 

He shouldn’t get his hopes up. Maybe, maybe not. He had a monster to find first. 

“While we’re looking,” Jamal called as he skipped to the front of the group, trying to balance the cricket bat in one arm and his stuffed frog — whose name, Callum learned, was Terrence — in the other. “Tell me if you see any cool toads, so I can see! Common frogs and toads are just what’s around here, and smooth newts. Natterjack toads are my favorite, but they’re kinda rare.”

Felix saluted him. “Yes sir!”

“The Latin name for common toads is really fun to say, though, even if it’s not my favorite.”

“And what is the Latin name?” 

Jon’s question made Jamal grin widely. _“Bufo bufo!”_ He shook Callum by the arm. “Say it, say it!” 

“What—”

“Come on!” 

“Uh, _bufo bufo.”_

“See!” 

Callum couldn’t say he did, but Jamal was excited, so. “Uh-huh.” 

He bounced off over to Lexie, and Callum glanced at Aminah with a little confusion. “Did someone give him caffeine?” Jamal didn’t have quiet days all the time, but he was normally soft-spoken.

“No, just autism.”

“Okay.” 

“Amphibians are his special interest, so he knows a lot about them, and he gets really excited when they show up.” 

“Cool.” Callum tried to think of something that got him that excited every time. Coming up empty made him feel weird. 

Past Jamal, Lexie, and Felix’s chatter, Callum caught Melanie murmuring to Jon at the back of their group.

“Jon, is—?”

“I know. I’m keeping an eye on it.”

“Like, and _eye_ eye, or—”

“No, a-a regular eye. It might be nothing. Storms aren’t unusual this time of year.”

“But it’s not a _storm,_ it’s just—”

“I know.”

Callum faced them. They needed to pool their information if they were going to get anything done. “You saw something?”

“Oh, um.” Adjusting his glasses, Jon said, “No, nothing.” 

Before Callum could call him out for lying, Melanie cut in. “Just that the clouds are getting dark fast.” 

Lexie aimed her water gun at the sky. “If it fires, I’m firing _back.”_

“That’s just gonna get you even more wet,” Nicholas told her.

“Better to die fighting than take it lying down!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Callum could tell Melanie was desperately muffling laughter.

“You won’t _die._ Unless you’re the Wicked Witch from _Wizard of Oz.”_

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Callum.” 

He looked at Aminah again, but this time, she just shrugged. 

Their trek kept on. Whatever passersby thought about kids marching through Battersea Park looking like they’d each walked off the field in the middle of their sport of choice and nabbed a couple adults on the way, Callum couldn’t tell. No doubt Melanie and Jon were making all sorts of weird apologetic faces at everyone who made eye contact. 

Callum tried to stay focused on their mission, but Lexie and Felix were way too chatty to not get caught up in it, and Nicholas kept trying to be the logical one and ended up just playing right into it all, and Jamal kept repeating _bufo bufo_ under his breath, and Aminah kept quiet until she could drop in just the right side comment that sent Callum _rolling._

Multitasking king, sure, but this was a lot to juggle. At this rate, he’d never be able to help Hannah with the library monster.

The sky got darker and darker, but still never broke with rain. Callum would take that as a good thing, even with how cold the wind was getting. Around them, the paths thinned out. No surprise considering the weather. It made it easier to keep scanning through the park and along the river for signs of… something. Spooky somethings. 

“Wait!” 

Jamal’s sudden shout made them all freeze, and Callum tightened his grip on Beatrix the bat. “What?”

“I saw—! I saw—!” 

“Saw _what?”_

Rather than explain a word, Jamal let his cricket bat clatter to the ground and charged off towards a tree next to the nearby car park with all the other kids on his heels. Jon and Melanie took up a slow rear.

“What is it?”

A moment of rustling, then Jamal held forward his cupped palms. Sat in the middle was a fat, wart covered lump.

_“Bufo bufo.”_

Nicholas smacked a hand to his forehead, almost dropping his racket from the other. “I thought you saw the _monster,_ I was gonna have a heart attack!” 

_“Don’t believe,_ my a—”

“Woah, hey, no— no cursing,” Melanie cut in before Lexie could finish. “We don’t need to be _that_ bad of influences.” 

“I, ah…” Jon wasn’t looking at any of them. His attention fixed on the Thames. “I don’t think that’s our biggest concern, right now?” 

Seven sets of eyes all locked on him. When Callum followed his gaze, he couldn’t see a thing, but Jon was weird like that. He could just _see_ stuff, like how he could just _know_ them. Spookyvision.

Jon turned back to the rest of them. “We should hide. Now.” 

“Hide?” Melanie repeated, startled. “Hide from what?” 

“I don’t know, but we, um. We need to go.” 

“Wait, maybe it’s the monster! I mean, that’s why we came here,” Callum argued. He almost had to shout over frigid wind. Maybe Jan’s scarf wasn’t so weird after all. “Right, guys?” 

With the hand not still holding the toad, Jamal tugged his helmet more firmly on, and Lexie adjusted her grip on her water gun. Felix shifted from foot to foot at a rapid pace, like he knew he wanted to run but couldn’t decide if it would be forward or away. Aminah gripped Jamal’s dropped bat tightly and planted the end of her field hockey stick so it was crossed in front of both her and an even more nervous than usual Nicholas. 

“We can get it! You guys are the ones that said us going was okay, so—”

Melanie shook her head. _“Looking for_ and _fighting_ are totally different things.” 

“This trip is— is reconnaissance. Information gathering,” Jon said as he scanned the area around them. The clouds overhead grew darker, almost black. Still no rain, not even thunder. “But we need to hide, _now._ This way.” 

Callum scanned the paths and car park around them at a rapid pace. Not a single monster. Still, there was no faking the urgency in Jon’s voice as he rushed them along towards what looked like a sizable shed in the middle of the car park.

“Don’t they sell Christmas stuff out of this place?” Felix asked as Melanie crouched to try and lift the door. 

“Not in March.” Her voice was strained as she tugged, but the door didn’t budge, and she sat back on her heels with a huff. “Locked. Anyone have a bobby pin?” 

Fast as lightning, Aminah shoved Jamal’s bat back into his free hand so she could tug a thin black pin out of her hair and pass it over. Melanie took it with a quick, “Cheers,” as she returned to the padlock.

“I have more if you need them.” 

“Just the one should be…” A frustrated hiss. “…just fine.” 

Jon shifted where he stood, glancing over each shoulder. “Sooner would be better.”

“Well, unless you developed any magical— _shit—_ magical lockpicking skills, it’ll take as long as it takes, Jon.”

“I’m _just saying—”_

“Shove it!”

Jon opened his mouth to retort, but another sound interrupted. Scraping, like scales against the asphalt. Every muscle in Callum’s body froze, and he gripped the bat so hard it hurt. 

His whisper did not shake. It didn’t. “What is that?”

“I…” Jon’s voice abandoned him, just for a moment. “I don’t know.” 

A thud behind them drowned any more scraping out. “We’re in. Come on!” Melanie whisper-shouted with an urgent wave. The kids filed in one after the other, and after another glance across the car park, Jon and Melanie tucked in after them and shut the shed door behind. 

Inside held only shadows. Empty shelves ran along the back and one side wall opposite a small stand. On the opposite wall hung some old calendars, all thick with dust. The storm-that-wasn’t-a-storm meant the single window did little for them as far as light went. All they had was gloom. 

“Now what?” Felix whispered.

“Now…” Jon was just as quiet. “We wait.” 

Patience wasn’t something Callum could claim to have much of, but at least he wasn’t scared. Not even in this dark, cold room. Not even stuck like this. Not even then. 

He did wish Danny was here. 

Breath dragged harsh through the air. Cold wind squirmed its way through the gaps around the door and every tiny crack in the walls. Someone sniffled. 

So quietly Callum almost didn’t hear, Jon murmured to Melanie, “Can you…?”

“If I have to, but I’m not with the Slaughter anymore. I’ll try.” 

“Do you have a-anything with you?” 

“Just a regular knife. Not the one from artifact storage.”

“Probably for the best.” 

Silence again, cut through only by wind. 

A clammy hand found Callum’s own. The darkness everywhere around them meant he could only just barely catch the outline of glasses and fluffy hair at his side. 

He gripped Felix’s hand in return. When fingers brushed the backs of his own on the other side, he linked with Aminah, too. When was the last time he held hands with someone like this? 

It didn’t matter. Not when a shift from the window snapped his attention towards it so fast his neck ached. A shadow had blinked across, like a silhouette ran past without any pound of footsteps along with it.

Nothing more changed for a long moment, even as they all stared wide-eyed at the window. Callum couldn’t hear any of that same scrape. Maybe that shadow was whatever thing Jon wanted them to hide from giving up.

Just as he had that thought, a pair of hands slammed against the glass. Black ones. Not _dark_ like Jamal or Aminah, or any other human shade of brown — _black,_ black like ink or dark water or nothing at all. 

Someone shrieked at the impact. Callum didn’t know who. The hands dragged along the glass and left trails of something thick wherever they touched. 

Another pair smacked onto the window with its own trails and desperate scrabbling against the whole pane, hunting for some crack in the glass. Another one of them screamed. Callum had thought such little light had come through that the window may as well have not existed, but as more and more hands joined the first and smeared ink and shadows everywhere they touched, he felt each bit of light fade away down to his bones. 

Melanie and Jon pulled Callum and the others behind them, but two rather slight adults couldn’t block his fading sight. The hands moved without rhyme or reason. If there were people attached to each pair, their limbs would be hopelessly tangled. They slid in and on and around each other without any sign of stopping and ate at the light like rust on metal. 

It was eating the light. That meant there was darkness.

There was darkness, and Callum had a friend there. 

His eyes screwed shut. Small, he thought. Small and sharp and very, very fast, like those desert lizards that skittered across the sand and were gone in the blink of an eye. Something that could come and slash these things apart.

All of the hands pounded against the glass now, but Callum kept as focused as he could. If he could shape his monster at night even while his stepfather yelled and smacked on walls, he could do it now. Even when something slammed against the shed door so hard the thing shook and rained down dust from above. Even when his friends screamed and he could hear one of them crying in fear. Even then.

_Come on,_ he thought, desperate. _Come on, come on, come on. I know I heard you in the closet with me. I know you’re there. Come on. Please. Please._

Whether the howling outside was wind or whatever made the whole structure around them shake, it didn’t matter. The scream building in Callum’s throat didn’t matter. He clutched Felix and Aminah’s hands as tight as he could and _pulled._

A new sound rippled in the air — a roar. Throaty. Musical, almost. Callum imagined it hissing through razor-teeth and a poison-coated tongue. Claws like long, dark knives. Small and sharp and fast and _here._

“Go away,” Callum growled. An order to whatever was trying to get inside. He wouldn’t let it. He wouldn’t. “Go away, go away, _go away!”_

His voice climbed with each demand until it challenged the deafening wind, and the sound of _his_ matched. _His_ let out another one of those musical roars that made his skin crawl and his face break into a fierce smile, and noises he couldn’t even begin to guess at rang out. Wet tearing sounds, and inhuman screams. The hands tore away from the window as _his_ let out a howl, long and triumphant. 

And, as quickly as they came, they were gone. The only sounds were sniffles and Callum’s own panting. No source of light magically appeared, but somehow the shadows drew back. Not so thick, now. 

“…Holy _shit.”_

Melanie didn’t cut off Lexie’s curse this time. “Yeah, same here.” She let out a short breath. “Jon, is it…?”

A moment of thought before Jon replied. “It’s safe.” 

“Right. Let go, hon.” 

Callum couldn’t quite tell who had their arms wrapped around her waist from behind — also Lexie, maybe — before Melanie detangled herself to open the shed door. She raised it by no more than a foot and bent over where she was crouched to peer underneath, then stood and lifted it all the way once she decided it was clear. 

Outside, the pavement was covered in wide smears of that weird black substance, and when Callum left the shed, he could see more slicked up and down the walls. 

“Woah…” Nicholas’s jaw was dropped. Lexie nudged him with the butt of her water gun as she scrubbed her arm over her face. 

“Bet you believe now, huh?”

“I— I mean, _yeah._ Not in ghosts, but in whatever the heck _that_ was!” 

Felix turned to Callum with huge, awed eyes. “How did you _do_ that?”

“Yes, I—” Jon cleared his throat. “I would also be interested to know.”

It was only then that Callum realized he was still holding both Felix and Aminah’s hands. He dropped them right quick. “Um. I just… I don’t know.” Not a _lie,_ not when he didn’t know how any of it worked. How was he supposed to explain something he didn’t get? Once he put the words together, he’d tell them more. 

The look on Jon’s face was unreadable. “…Right. I think we can call this— if not a success, then plenty of excitement for the day.” 

“We did it though, right?” Aminah asked. “There was the monster, and then Callum made it go away.” 

“I thought there were two monsters.” Nicholas’s brows knit. “There was the one that was messing with us first, and then there was the one that chased it off.” 

Chewing his lip, Felix said, “It doesn’t matter. They’re gone, okay? Let’s go.” Jamal nodded emphatically at his side. 

Before they left, Melanie gestured to the mess around them. “Is there… something we need to do about all _this?”_

“I think it’s finally going to rain,” Jon answered. “And whatever the rain doesn’t wash away, the sun after should take care of.” 

“It’s a bunch of— _darkness goop._ There’s probably someone we need to tell about that.” 

“If you’d like to report it to research, by all means.” 

As they bickered, Jamal scampered back to the same tree he’d stopped at before to at last release the friend he’d found before everything went wrong. “Bye, _bufo bufo.”_ It let out a loud croak, then hopped away.

Their walk back to the Institute was much more subdued. Callum still felt that weird shakiness that came after a hit of adrenaline, and from their wide eyes, he could tell his friends felt the same way. 

Was he supposed to apologize? They all seemed scared, but he _told_ them it might be scary if they hadn’t dealt with this sort of thing before. He _said_ they shouldn’t come if they thought it’d be too much. If they were scared, that wasn’t his fault.

It still felt like some of that weird sticky darkness was sitting in his throat, though, all knotted up with bad feelings. He’d just have to get over it, like they’d just have to get over being scared. Once they got over it this time, they wouldn’t be scared anymore. 

Waiting on the Institute steps was Tim, to Callum’s surprise, with a slip of paper in his hand and a grim look on his face. He could just barely see a bit of thinly scrawled cursive on the page. 

Screw that.

Callum turned to his friends. “Hey, so, I know I said I’ve got better than a ghost, but…”

All of them looked at him, still wide-eyed. Still scared. He couldn’t fix that, but maybe he could give a peace offering. 

He pointed at Tim. “I’ve got a ghost, too.” 

In a flash, the whole pack of them darted forward with Lexie predictably in the lead and Nicholas right behind. He couldn’t make out a single one of Lexie’s questions when Felix was asking his own slew, just as fast and loud, all while Nicholas tried hard to hold onto being the token disbeliever. Jamal went back to being silent, but he seemed like he was having just as much fun holding Terrence out to pass it back and forth through Tim’s side. 

Aminah was the only one who hesitated with a long look at Callum, but after a second she joined the others to inspect their new supernatural mystery.

“Wow, hello, hi, hey!” Tim called, arms up as he tried to process the cannonball crashing into him. “One at a time, and— hello, yeah, that sure is a frog. Hi.” 

“Callum?” 

The smile that’d just started return crumbled back into a scowl. “What?”

Jon and Melanie made eye contact, then Jon continued. “You aren’t in trouble, and neither of us are— neither of us are upset with you, but I’d like to ask about what just happened.” 

Ugh. Before he could even get his words in order like he’d planned. He didn’t know what to say, not when he had no chance to figure out what they’d take best. 

“Ask what?”

“The beast that was attempting to come inside where we were hiding. It seemed like you had some level of control over it. Am I correct?”

“Not that one. The one that chased it off.” His filter was in the damn _Sun._

Jon met Melanie’s eyes again. “…Right. The— the second one, of course.” 

Weird. Callum didn’t ask what the hesitation meant, just let his scowl deepen. “That it?”

“No, just one more question.”

“Fine.” 

Looking closely at him, Jon asked, “Do you have a name for your monster?”

“Uh, not really.” Callum shrugged. “I’ve been trying to think of something, but most of the ones I come up with don’t fit.” 

“So there _is_ one that fits.” Melanie, this time. Callum slipped a finger under the plaster on his palm to scratch at the skin beneath. Could they cool it on the interrogation? At least _this_ question was harmless.

“I think it wants to be called Mr. Pitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: tma-typical levels of Spooky Business, a brief reference to abuse
> 
> dadima - hindi word for grandmother
> 
> like i did with fairgoers, [[here's a lil picrew-based ref for the appearances of callum's new school friends!](https://titanfalling.tumblr.com/post/634883758928068608/like-i-did-for-the-fairgoers-crew-since-its-a-lot)]
> 
> no this jan is not jan kilbride also i am so sorry for adding yet another john-adjacent name to the tma mix but my hands were unfortunately tied
> 
> on the horizon: some old crewmates return home


	7. Canis Major

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[Greek]_ The larger of two dogs following the mythical hunter Orion in pursuit of a hare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought this one would be out quicker but then. holidays happened. wahey!
> 
> cws in the end note as always - this one does get a bit heavy in places
> 
> suggested listening: the gift by seether  
> [[playlist so far](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtbsflE5_346VAfjhfHlK2PTnEEFj8KNY)]

Seeing Jan smoking outside the Institute as Callum was on his way in was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. May as well update him on the whole monster hunt thing. 

“Callum, good to see you.” 

He waved. “Do you work here or somethin’?” There were a lot of departments he didn’t know people from and all. It would make sense.

“I don’t, but the current head and I are familiar with each other.” He puffed on his cigar. Thankfully, the smoke didn’t come near Callum’s face. “A couple of old sailors, he and I. I won’t say we’re _friends,”_ Jan added with a dry look. “He’s a bit too dull for that.” 

No stifling his snicker. “That boring?”

_“Quite._ Still, he makes interesting bets every so often. It’s the only reason he and I speak most of the time.” He glanced down at Callum. “But enough about me. Did you destroy the beast?”

“Yeah!” Callum was pretty sure, anyway. Jon acted all weird about it, but he also didn’t even know what it was in the first place when Callum asked, so clearly he wasn’t the best source. “There was two monsters, but I got one to chase off the other one.”

Jan looked approving. “Turning them against each other, then? A very good tactic.” 

Saying one of them was his own probably wasn’t a great idea. Everyone Callum had met at the Institute was alright, yeah, but that didn’t mean they’d take hearing about _his_ very well. That kind of thing could be scary to people who didn’t know — just looking at his friends’ reactions was sign enough of that. No reason for Callum to scare anyone off. 

When he nodded, Jan went on. “Proving you’re the most dangerous shark in the sea is difficult, but you seem well on your way.”

Most dangerous shark in the sea… Callum liked the sound of that. “I don’t know if it was what messed up the library for sure, but if there’s a monster hanging around near here, we have to get rid of it, right?” Any that weren’t _his,_ anyway. 

“If you’re willing and able, there’s no reason not to.” Back straight, Jan gave an emphatic wave of his cigar. “If you want to destroy those monsters, then by G-d you destroy those monsters.” 

He talked like a stuffy old codger from a cartoon, but from the look he shot Callum, it must be a little played up. It earned him half a smile. 

“If they’re gonna hurt people, then they shouldn’t be here.” 

“Mm.” After a half-second of scrutiny, Jan said, “I was about your age when I began my own efforts to prove myself. It’s time for you to start thinking about the sort of man you want to be.”

Eugh. No thanks. Callum was fine without any of that mess, right now. “Thought you said I was a shark.”

Another puff on the cigar, this time around Jan’s own smile. “Then by G-d,” he repeated. “You be a shark.”

Callum bared his teeth in a wide shark-grin, then darted off towards the Institute door. Jan was interesting and all, but he had places to be.

Places that could wait long enough for Callum to say hi to Rosie and get a strawberry Simpkins, though. 

Down the stairs two at a time, a turn, throw open the door, and—

“Danny!”

Danny straightened up where he was sitting at his desk and smiled wide. “Callum, hey!” 

Even though Callum rushed over, he stopped short of a hug. He could play it cool. “Hey.” Tossing his backpack down, he scanned the room. “Hey, Basira.”

She waved without pausing her conversation with Jon. The pair of them were bent over a book — entirely black. Black pages, black cover, black binding. Black like ink or dark water or nothing at all. 

“What’s that?” 

“No idea,” Danny answered. “That’s what we were hoping to figure out, but a book that Dark doesn’t love being read.”

“Oh.” That was nearly the end of it, but a sudden thought popped in Callum’s head. “Maybe I could read it. ‘Cause it’s Dark.”

“Nope.” 

“But—”

Danny cut off the argument by ruffling his hair. “Remember what you promised day one down here?”

Shuffling, and a shrug.

“What did you promise?”

“Let you guys deal with stuff first.” Mumbled. 

“We need to at least be sure it wouldn’t hurt you, and if that’s even necessary.” Leaning back in his chair, Danny's hands laced over his stomach. “Books are some of the especially dangerous things, so we’d only go with that if we absolutely had to.” 

Callum scowled, but relented with a shrug all the same. “I hate reading, anyway.” 

“See? Best option for everyone.” 

Book discussed, another new arrival caught his eye — the pages on Danny’s own desk. Old-looking things, covered in weird diagrams and languages Callum couldn’t even recognize, much less understand. 

“What’s those?”

Danny sat forward again to scan them. “With any luck, they’re Martin’s souvenir.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. From what Basira and I could tell, it seems like some kind of prototype for something. It might be nothing, but it might _not_ be nothing.” A moment of quiet as Danny rustled around in his bag, then set a Toblerone bar next to the papers. “But let no one say I’m ill-prepared if I’m wrong.” 

Another rustle, another candy bar. This one, he passed to Callum. _Score._

As Callum tore it open, Danny zipped his bag shut and tucked it under his desk. “What did you get up to while we were gone?”

“Met Felix’s friends at school,” Callum answered around the chocolate. Kind of a weird blend with the taste of strawberries still lingering in his mouth, but not terrible. “They’re cool.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm. S’me, Felix, Aminah, Lexie, Nicholas — not Nick — and Jamal.”

Danny smiled again. “Sounds like a solid group.”

“Yeah. After the library got all messed up, they came over to help me find whatever did it. I don’t think the thing we got was it, since it was just some kind of monster and not bell guy, but we got rid of a monster, still.”

After staring for a moment, Danny turned in his chair to throw an accusatory look at Jon. “I was gone for six days, and you let Callum start a child militia?”

Deer-in-headlights eyes, then, “He started it _without_ my input. I chaperoned so they wouldn’t get eaten by a monster. A-And Melanie helped, too.” 

“Two adults and six primary schoolers versus a monster. Great ratio.”

“Two monsters,” Callum piped up, scratching under the plaster on his hand. “But one of them was good.”

The accusatory look doubled in strength. This time, Jon had no argument.

Before Danny could say a word, ice-cold fingers pressed against the back of Callum’s neck. Callum yelped and spun around, glaring hard at Tim. He tried to kick him in the shin, but just like it did the day they met, his shoe passed through. 

Wait. Tim touched him. Tim could _touch._

“What— You’ve got hands?”

“Uh, yeah. I do have hands. I’ve had hands for a while.”

“No, I mean you— you’ve got hands that can touch stuff. People.”

Flexing his fingers, Tim replied, “Kind of hit or miss, but yep. People are a go.” 

“Your skin’s freezing.”

“Yeah.” Tim’s eyes moved past Callum for a split second to look at Danny. “Trying to work on that, but no dice yet.” He shrugged, too stiff to be casual. “Turns out, blowing into your hands doesn’t do much when you’ve got ghost lungs.” 

Callum scanned him. “Can you make any part of yourself be there?” 

“Uh, it’s not something I’ve tested much, but I assume _yes.”_

He pointed down. “Make your leg do it.”

“I’m not manifesting my leg so you can kick me.” 

“Please?”

“No.” 

_“Pleeeeeee—”_

Before Callum could _really_ drag out the pleading, voices from the hall interrupted. 

“Ma’am!” Rosie’s voice. “Ma’am, you really aren’t supposed to—”

“I just need to be— I have to check that he’s—”

In seconds, Callum’s mother burst into the archives, eyes wide and frantic. They barely settled when she caught sight of him. 

A scared day. Great. 

With Rosie left to hover in the doorway and wring her hands, his mother rushed across the room and tugged him close, scrutinizing his face the whole while. “Are you alright?”

“Mum, I’m _fine,_ get—”

Before he could push her hands away, she noticed Tim and pulled Callum even closer, his back against her waist and arms around his shoulders from behind. “Who are you?” Suspicion weighted each word.

“This is my brother, Tim.” The soothing tone in Danny’s voice outweighed that suspicion, and Callum could feel his mother relax degree by degree. “He was out of town for a while, which is why you haven’t met him, but now that he’s back, he’s working with us to help Callum.” 

“O-Oh. Good, that— that’s good.” 

Irritated, Callum pulled out of her grip. “He’s _fine,_ Mum. He’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s _fine.”_

“Is there…” Jon cleared his throat. “Is there something we could help you with?” Probably assuming she came here for a _reason,_ not just because she had random spikes where she freaked out. Callum didn’t need to look at her to know she was scrambling for something. 

“I just… I, I realized, um… I… haven’t asked you what you want for your birthday, Callum.” 

Not her worst excuse, but that was a low bar. He shrugged, scowling. “Dunno.”

“Your birthday is soon?” 

He answered Danny with another shrug, but his mother said, “March 28th. He’s turning thirteen.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cut in before Danny could say anything else. “I’m fine, Mum, you can lay off.” 

“Yes, why don’t— Why don’t we head home, okay?”

_“Mum—”_

“Callum, please.” The hand she ran over his hair was nervous and jittery. “Please.” 

He didn’t reply, but when his eyes dropped to study his shoes, she gave that same relieved sigh she always did when he gave up arguing. 

“While you’re here…” Basira shut the book on her desk and crossed over to them. “We’ve found a couple of potential leads — Melanie has been talking with someone who worked on a mission that had a lot to do with the Dark. Her name’s Dr. Inés Perdomo. She wasn’t on the Dark aspect specifically, but she should hopefully know some things. She’s stationed in Venezuela, but she’s gonna be in London within the next couple weeks. If we set up a meeting, I’ll be in touch.”

His mother blinked, wide-eyed at the sudden avalanche of information without context. “Um. Yes, that— that sounds fine.” 

“Good. Let us know if anything changes with Callum.” A silence, then Basira finished with a less assured-sounding, “Get home safe,” and left them to rejoin Jon.

One hand comfortably in his pocket, Tim took her place. “I’ll walk you to the door, then? So you can get an introduction that’s not from _that_ idiot.” 

Danny made to throw a pen at him, but caught himself. For the best — Callum wasn’t sure his mother would handle the whole _ghost_ thing great at this exact moment. 

“We’re all set, then?” Rosie looked off-kilter still, but her smile at Callum was warm. He didn’t return it. 

“All set,” Tim answered, and the four of them were off.

“I, um…” Callum’s mother fiddled with her ring as they went up the stairs. “I’m sorry for being so…” She trailed off before saying any number of things Callum could finish it with: paranoid, suspicious, crazy, annoying, _whatever._ No telling how Tim finished it in his own head.

“Ah, you’re fine. Can’t begrudge you being worried about your kid, right?”

“Mm.” 

When they got to the lobby, it remained empty only long enough for Rosie to take a seat at her desk before an excited shout broke through.

_“Mr. Tim!”_

Tim’s grin lit up his whole face. “Junebug!” 

_Great._

A small, dark shape charged up to sail right through Tim’s legs, giggling the whole while. Callum’s head whipped around to his mother, but by a small stroke of luck, she was busy digging in her purse at that moment. Ghost secret was safe.

Hannah kept close to Juno as he ran in. Callum hadn’t told her he tried to get the thing that messed up her library. He didn’t _actually_ get it, he didn’t think, so him trying didn’t matter. Bell person was still out there. 

At the desk, his mother paused to talk quietly with Rosie — something about calling her when Callum got here, just for the next few visits, she just gets worried, she didn’t mean to be any trouble, but if Rosie could just call, that would be great, just for a bit, her phone number was— 

Didn’t trust Callum would be where he said he was. Maybe before all this, when Callum had no destination beyond _not home_ after school, it would make sense, but Callum _liked_ it here. 

Liked it when he wasn’t messing it all up, anyway. 

No way to miss it when Juno’s chattering went suddenly quiet. Callum looked over out of the corner of his eye to watch Juno edge behind Tim’s leg. Putting Tim between him and Callum. Nervous. 

Not nervous. Scared.

Tim crouched, plenty concerned, and Juno leaned in to whisper in his ear. Callum didn’t want to look at Hannah. Didn’t want to meet her eyes. When Tim glanced over at him with an expression Callum couldn’t read, his eyes dropped to the ground and his shoulders hiked up. Maybe if he prayed hard enough, the ground would wrench open and swallow him.

The ground paid no attention to Callum’s prayers. Under his feet was nothing more than dirt and wood and linoleum, and none of those things shaped themselves to the wishes of almost-thirteen-year-old boys. 

The ground didn’t care what bad kids wanted. Bad kids had to look out for themselves.

* * *

“We didn’t go in the _pyramids—”_

“I’m _just saying,_ if you went all the way to Egypt, you should have at least _tried_ to find a mummy!” Callum threw his hands in the air. “Like, _one_ mummy!” 

Danny snorted. “I think the people there have probably had enough of Brits charging into all their pyramids to poke around.” 

“It wouldn’t have to be _all_ of them. Vampires are weird and different, so I bet mummies are weird and different too, but now we’ll _never know.”_ He copied the accusatory look Danny hit Jon with a couple days ago. “Because you didn’t try to find any.”

“We found an old, spooky book and some old, spooky, probably forbidden documents, and _somehow_ managed to get them through customs.” The laughter in his voice undercut any argumentative tone he might have tried for. “I think that’s some pretty good returns for a trip that got cut short because someone decided to pull an Alexandria encore in our own library.”

“…Just _one_ mummy, though!”

Something interrupted Danny’s exasperated eye roll, and he paused. Seconds later, his eyes locked on the archives door. 

“What?”

Danny held up a hand. It looked like he was listening hard, but Callum couldn’t hear anything out of place. “I— I’ll be right back, okay? I need you to stay here ‘til I come get you. It shouldn’t be long.”

“What? Why, what’s going—”

Before Callum could finish the question, Danny vanished, and left his desk chair spinning slowly behind him. 

Callum sat back with a huff. Charged right off, and didn’t even tell him why. They were having fun, too. 

Tim must not have told Danny that Juno was still scared of him. No way Danny would be treating him like this if he knew. He still didn’t get what kind of kid Callum was. 

The last dregs of a smile slid off Callum’s face as he sat alone in the empty archives. He couldn’t get Tim’s expression out of his head. Not _mad._ Reassessing. Danny hadn’t figured out what sort Callum was, so anything he told Tim wouldn’t be the whole truth. Juno finished the picture. 

None of Callum’s teachers ever needed this long to realize that he was one of the trouble kids. He couldn’t remember too much about the time right after his mother married his stepfather, not when he was so young, but he knew that it hadn’t taken long for the facts to come out there, either. What was Danny’s _deal?_

Whatever it was, it meant that he must not have told Jon or Melanie or Basira about the stuff Callum had done. Tim probably would. _He_ must get it now, even if Danny didn’t. The four of them together would make Danny see reality, and Callum would leave. He’d go back to wandering. He’d hang out with his school friends until they figured it out too, and then the world would be back in order. That was how it worked. 

Might as well see what was going on, then. Get his fill of the cool stuff while he still could. 

Callum pushed out of his chair in a single, jerky motion. Two steps into the path towards the door, he halted. 

A black leather wallet sat on Danny’s desk. Left behind. 

Finders-keepers.

Following the action took all of three seconds considering the lot of them were a couple meters down the hall at most. At least Callum was good at going unnoticed. 

Danny, Basira, and Jon stood opposite a man Callum had never seen before. Plain, besides the fact that he was the same height as Danny. More interesting: the wooden coffin sitting on a trolley at his side. Callum didn’t bother with any doomed attempts to read whatever was carved into the front.

“Running a little late on this delivery,” Jon was saying. “It certainly took a while to arrive. Why the delay?” The sound of his question hit Callum with a weird buzzing feeling at the base of his skull. Big guy didn’t look any more comfortable when he jerked his chin towards Danny.

“Smell of a traitor makes me sick. Long way to fall—” His answer cut out strangely, but he went on after a skipped beat. Cockney, or pretending to be. For some reason. “From the stage to the seats.”

“Look at you, finishing sentences all on your own.” Danny’s voice was soft, and colder than Callum had ever heard it. “Try not to hurt yourself.”

The guy’s lip curled as he loomed towards Danny in some kind of threat, but before he could say anything, Danny’s head tipped to the side. Too far to look natural. 

“Watch yourself, courier.” A cutting laugh. “Or can I even call you that anymore? Half-dead, you’re not of any use. Can’t even deliver a box of dirt on time. _Useless.”_ Said like the worst of insults. 

This time, it was the courier who interrupted his own reply. A smile spread across his face.

“You wanted out of the spotlight so much—” A halt. “That you got yourself a little shadow?”

In an instant, Danny and Basira closed ranks in front of Callum, shoulder to shoulder. The courier let out a low, grunting laugh. 

“Wanted your own marionette? Maybe he’d have some luck finding the copper.” He rapped his knuckles on the coffin’s lid. “Plenty of dark— down below.”

“Get out.” 

“Basira—”

She took a step forward with no mind to Jon. “Get _out.”_ Her voice fell to a snarl.

_“Make_ me.” 

The weird buzzing built until Callum could feel it in his teeth. Basira was tall, but the courier could _actually_ loom over her in a way he couldn’t with Danny. She didn’t budge. One arm stayed slightly raised to form an X with Danny’s, blocking Callum.

Static whipped through the air and tugged a colorblur that made Callum’s head throb alongside. Cold crept up from his fingertips. Should he try and call _his?_ To get rid of this person, this _thing?_ The others would hate it, but he was here on limited time anyway. It didn’t matter if they hated it. Everything was bright and seeing here, but maybe if he tried, really _tried,_ he could do it anyway, and as the lightbulbs flickered, he thought he might. Just needed to put the pieces together in his head, because even if dirt and wood and linoleum didn’t listen to him, _his_ did, so maybe—

_“Stop.”_

And everything did. 

Everything except the buzz, but in four letters Jon folded it all into a point directed at the courier, who shrank back like there was a scalpel brandished his way. Maybe there was, just not one that could cut anything but him. Jon’s eyes were the same bright silver of steel. Just as cold. Just as sharp. 

Danny didn’t look away from the courier for a second, even as he asked, “Jon, what are—”

_“Stop.”_ The thing shrank into himself. “Stop it.”

“No.” Growled in a way Callum had never heard from Jon.

When the coffin opened, Callum couldn’t say. Stairs. _Stairs,_ somehow. He could figure that out later. As he watched, the courier demanded that Jon stop, then begged, but Jon closed in regardless. Danny and Basira drew back. Their arms were still held out, still shielding. 

“Stop— _looking_ at me—”

One of Callum’s hands twisted into the back of Danny’s shirt as Jon took step after step. The courier mirrored him, step after step after step until the only ground beneath his feet went down. He went down with it. A scream followed behind.

The coffin door creaked shut without a single touch, and the buzz faded from a weight to a whine to nothing at all. 

Jon staggered. Basira was immediately at his side with a hand out. 

“Jon?”

“Pen, get—” He took a shaky breath. “Get me a pen.”

* * *

After some tense conversation, they moved the coffin by its trolley into the archives proper. Jon barely noticed the production of it, too busy hunched over a desk and writing as he muttered into a tape recorder. How Jon could beat Danny in weirdness, Callum didn’t know, but here they were. 

Danny sat on the ground, leaned against the wall. He looked tired. Callum sat next to him. In front of them both, Basira paced. 

“He said she was in there.”

“Of course he said that.” 

“If she’s in there, Danny, I—”

“Leo. Please.”

Callum’s brows furrowed. “Huh?”

“Right.” Danny let out a breath. “Never got around to explaining that, did I?” 

Though she still looked agitated, Basira paused. “Do you want me to?”

“S’fine, I’ve got it.” A quick shift turned him to face Callum a little more. “That’s a name I go by, sometimes.”

“Like that one lady from your dance place said. Samera.”

“Mhm. I flip to it there, too. Not very much.”

“Why?”

After a pause, Danny said, “The courier, he was with the same group I was for a while. It’s why he knew me. While I was there, they didn’t like me using my name. It was against the rules for all of us.”

“Oh.” Callum tugged on the cord of his hoodie. “How’d you guys talk to each other, then? Without names or nothing.”

“Usually, we called people their jobs.”

“So like, _courier.”_

“Exactly.” He went on before Callum could ask what his old job was. “After I got out, it was hard for me to get used to being called my original name, so we used Leo as a kind of placeholder. Sometimes it still feels hard, so I swap back to Leo for a bit.” 

“Okay. Um, Leo.” It felt weird to say. Wrong, kind of. Callum just hoped he would remember. 

As they talked, Basira went still, eyes fixed on the coffin. Callum couldn’t tell what she was thinking. 

“Who’s in there?”

She didn’t answer. Again, Danny took up explanation duty. “A lot of people, but the one we were talking about before is Daisy. She’s Basira’s old partner.” 

“Are you guys gonna get her out?”

“…I don’t know,” Danny said. There wasn’t so much as a twitch from Basira. “If we can.”

Before Callum could ask anything else, the sound of a pen clattering against a desk cut in. Jon looked woozy.

“Statement… ends.”

With that, he crumpled. It was only Danny’s quick reaction time that kept him from hitting the floor. 

_“Jesus—”_

That got Basira's attention. “Is he alright?” 

Danny studied him, brows drawn. “Just passed out.” The ease with which he stood wasn’t much of a surprise considering how scrawny Jon was. “Cot’s still set up?” 

“Pretty sure.”

“I’ll put him there to… sleep it off, I guess.” He adjusted the weight in his arms, then headed off between rows of old files. Basira didn’t break her stare on the coffin. No doubt she was thinking hard.

Callum curled his legs up to his chest. Waiting. He wasn’t sure what for. 

It wasn’t long before Danny returned. “We should probably—”

“Daisy’s in there.”

“…Right. So we need to—”

“And it leads into the Buried.” 

Callum didn’t say anything. Just watched. Waited.

“Yeah, which is why—”

“Got it.” She met Danny’s eyes at last. “Keep it safe. I’ll be back in a few days.”

Danny looked as confused as Callum felt. “Be back? Basira, we need to _talk_ about—”

“I have some leads I need to follow.”

“Basi—”

“Don’t let Jon do anything stupid.”

Before she could make it out the door, Danny caught her by the arm. “Hold _on.”_ His face was hard, now. “What happened to, _we have to make a plan?”_

It must have meant something to her. Callum could’ve sworn he saw a flicker of something like guilt, but it was impossible to tell for sure. After a long, silent beat, she pulled out of his grip.

The hall lights flickered as Basira left without another word. All that remained was Danny, Callum, and a coffin packed full of living people left six feet under.

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Mughrabi seemed nice, for all of the thirty seconds Callum saw them. They had some kind of work thing for Mrs. Mughrabi, which was apparently why Aminah was allowed to have friends over on a school night at all.

“Katya’s in charge!” Mr. Mughrabi called as he helped his wife put on her coat. Once his hands were free, he pointed at Aminah’s older sister. _“Healthy_ dinner.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

“I mean it!” He didn’t sound at all mad that Katya blew him off. Weird. 

“Fine. Go have fun with all the other professors.” 

Mrs. Mughrabi sighed with an exasperated smile. “We’ll see.”

As Katya and the Mughrabi parents traded some last goodbyes, Aminah tugged on Callum and Felix’s arms. “Come on, let’s go to my room.”

Aminah had a big house. Not _huge,_ but big. Especially for London. Felix must have been here before considering how comfortable he seemed, but Callum couldn’t help sneaking wide-eyed looks around him. 

There were just four of them, but their house had two floors. What were you supposed to do with that much space? Didn’t even have a dog. Did rich people give dogs their own bedrooms? He wouldn’t be surprised.

As soon as they got to Aminah’s room, Felix charged forwards to fling himself onto the bed. Double-wide. Aminah wasn’t far behind, but instead of taking her own flying leap, she snatched up a pillow and started beating on Felix.

“Take off your _shoes,_ you _cretin!”_

Felix didn’t lift his head, but Callum could see his shoulders shaking as he toed off his shoes and let them fall to the floor. Callum left his by the door, and after some shuffling where he stood, dropped his backpack next to them. 

While Felix did his best to burrow into the mass of bedding, Aminah dug around in the nearby closet and dragged out a collection of floor pillows. 

Rich people. 

Aminah set her hands on her hips, satisfied with the little circle she set up. “Homework plan. We’ve got maths, history, and science. One of us does each, and then we pass the answers around.” Hearing Felix past the mound of fabric he’d devolved into was a lost cause, but whatever he shouted sounded like an affirmation. 

“Dibs on maths,” Callum said as he flopped down on one of the pillows. Not too bad. 

Aminah took the one on his left. “I’ll do science.”

At last, Felix unearthed himself. “I wanted to do science!”

“Claim it faster next time, history-boy.” Focused as she was on digging her things out of her backpack, she didn’t notice when Felix launched one of her biggest pillows at her. 

A bed-pillow, not a floor-pillow. _Rich people._

Either way, the affront on her face when it smacked into her side made Callum burst out laughing, and she leveled a stern pen at him, then at Felix. 

“I _will_ throw both of you to the wolves with your science homework. Don’t think I won’t.” 

Felix scrambled free from the bed and snapped into a salute. “She means it.” 

No doubting that. Felix knew Aminah way better than Callum did, but by now he knew for a fact that if she said something, she _always_ meant it. No ifs, ands, or buts. Whether she was more stubborn than Callum himself was up in the air, and he wasn’t eager to find out. Unless it would be funny.

Once Aminah put on some music — Callum half-expected classical nonsense, all orchestras and strings and whatever, but it was thankfully normal — they cracked down. Most days, Callum wouldn’t bother to start his homework right after school, if he did it at _all._ Knowing he only had to worry about a third of it was much better. 

It wasn’t until Callum and Aminah had traded to copy each others’ work as Felix finished up the last question on the history side of things that Katya interrupted. 

“Alright, cretins.” Callum smothered a snort at the insult. Aminah must have gotten it from her. “I’ve been tasked with feeding you, and I was told to make it healthy.”

Before Katya could continue, Aminah’s nose wrinkled. “We can’t order pizza again?”

“Considering I’m flat broke and Dad knows better than to leave money when we’re supposed to eat like humans, we cannot,” Katya replied with a prim adjustment to her glasses. 

“I’ve got money.” 

When she, Aminah, and Felix looked at him with clear hope, Callum scrounged for an explanation that they’d buy. “My, um. My mum gave me some to help pay for food, but I forgot to say.” 

Katya’s head tipped back. “Thank _g-d.”_ She folded her arms and shot narrow eyes at Aminah. “Dirt?”

Aminah popped to her feet and mirrored the folded arms. “You spent the money Mum gave you to buy the required reading for English to buy someone else’s work from last term to copy.”

“You broke the porch light by the back door playing outside and blamed it on Regina McBride.” 

A long stare-down, then Katya stuck out her hand. Aminah shook it firmly, and Katya turned to Callum. “You’ve got money?”

“Um. Yeah.” Hopefully Danny carried cash. Callum dug in his backpack to unearth his nabbed wallet, pried it open, and— _Nice._ Couple tenners, so he shoved them Katya’s way. “Here.” 

“Your mum deserves the world.” The bills rustled as she counted them. “Toppings in three, two—”

_“Cheese!”_

_“Pepperoni!”_

“Half cheese, half pepperoni, all unhealthy. I’ll call when it’s here.” Quick as she came, Katya left and shut the door behind her. 

Callum zipped his bag shut again. “So, uh. _Dirt?”_

“She and I’ve got a system,” Aminah answered as she returned to her notebook. “We’ve got stuff on each other, so we know we’re not gonna tell on each other. This wasn’t enough for me to use her secret tattoo, so I used the school thing.” 

“But— I mean, your parents let her have a nose ring.” Against her brown skin, there wasn’t any missing the thin gold hoop set against the side. “Would they care about a tattoo?”

“She got the nose ring from a regular piercer. The tattoo was from her friend Maxine. Stick-and-poke.”

“It’s just some dumb plant in a pot,” Felix chimed in as he added his own homework answers to the spread between them. “I told her she should get a tiger, but she said no.”

_“I_ said she should get a spider.”

Trading the maths work over to Felix, Callum asked, “A spider?”

“Uh-huh.” Aminah scribbled something on her page. “She hates spiders.” 

Still no dinner by the time they were finished copying each other. Felix flopped back onto his pillow, then went bolt upright a second later. 

“Can you paint my nails?” 

“Only if you don’t scrape it all off _right_ after I finish.” Aminah got up and ducked into the bathroom — the bathroom _connected_ to her bedroom.

_Rich people._

The caddy in her hand as she returned rattled, lined with small bottles of polish in a dozen different shades. “What color?”

“Hm.” Felix studied the box. “Pink.”

“Do you want any?”

The answer jumped out before Callum even thought about it. _“No,_ what?”

“Okay.” Aminah didn’t say anything else as she pulled a couple bottles from the caddy, but Felix made a face at him. 

“Are you scared of nail polish?”

“What? No, I’m not scared of it!”

“Uh- _huh.”_

Callum glared at him, but Felix didn’t react, just watched as Aminah got to work with a bad attempt at hiding his smile. 

“…What colors do you have?”

“You can look in the box if you want.”

Ignoring Felix’s cheer, he did so. It didn’t take long to decide. 

“…I’ll do black.” He could scrape it off on the way home. 

“I could’ve guessed that,” Felix laughed.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“If you shove him while I’m painting his nails,” Aminah said gravely. “I _will_ kill you.”

She went back and forth on the both of them — one coat on Felix, one on Callum, back to Felix, back to Callum. It felt strange, like his nails were _cold_ because of the wet polish, and it looked stranger. He’d never worn nail polish before. The smudged one on his left hand from when he checked if it was dry didn’t help. 

Still, _strange_ didn’t mean _bad._ It just meant… strange. 

Strangest of all was when Aminah held a bottle of turquoise his way. “Felix sucks at painting, but if you want, you can do mine.”

“I’m not _that_ bad!”

“You get polish everywhere _but_ my nails.”

“Um.” Callum looked between her and the bottle a few times. “I’ve never done that before.” 

“Thanks, captain obvious,” Felix called from where he was flopped back on his pillow. Aminah kicked him.

“Mean.” She looked back at Callum. “But yeah, it’s kind of obvious. If you don’t want, I can do it.” 

Hesitant and resisting the urge to chew on his own nails, Callum took the bottle. “I’ll try.” 

Screwing up took about two seconds. Every time he tried to force his hands to keep steady, he got more polish on her skin. His brows furrowed hard, his tongue caught between his teeth, and he kept screwing it up. 

As soon as the first coat was done, he slammed the little brush back in the bottle and shoved the whole thing Aminah’s way. “Sorry.” 

Felix looked over the mess. “It’s better than mine.” Just being nice. Stupid. 

Before Callum could snap back at him, the door flew open to show Katya balancing a box in hand with a few paper plates stacked on top. “I took mine already, the rest is for you little animals. If you get any on the carpet, I throw you off the roof.” 

Aminah scurried to the bathroom again, this time returning with a towel, while Felix got the box from Katya. Once Aminah laid the towel down, Katya tossed her a small bottle Callum hadn’t noticed. “Meds, chickpea.” 

She wrestled with the lid for a moment. Felix didn’t react to the exchange, but Callum couldn’t deny some confusion. Pill in hand, Aminah tossed the bottle back to Katya, who at last left with a short wave.

“What’s that?”

“It’s called an antiandrogen.” A bottle of water sat on Aminah’s nightstand. She grabbed it, took the pill in a smooth motion, then added, “I take it and puberty blockers, but those are a shot I’ve gotta get every month.”

Ugh. Callum hated shots. “Why?”

“So my voice doesn’t get low or something. I don’t wanna sound like a boy.” 

Made sense. “Okay.” 

Two bites into his pizza, a door nearby slammed hard, and Callum jerked upright. The sound made his head ring. _Loud._

“What—?”

“Oh, Katya’s door swings kinda hard.” Felix shrugged and took another bite. “You stop noticing it after a while.” 

Callum didn’t answer. His heart was going and going and going like he’d just run a mile, and he couldn’t make himself sit still. 

It was just Katya. Her door was just loud. No one was mad. Their parents weren’t even home, so it wasn’t like it was either of them. It was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine. 

“Callum?” 

His eyes flicked to Aminah for a split second. Back to the door. To the paper plate in front of him. Picked up his pizza, put it down again. 

“What’s wrong?” Felix, this time.

“Nothing." Snapped. His hands wouldn’t stop bouncing around. Something in the back of his head wouldn’t shut up about how there was something he was supposed to hide, or stop doing, or _something,_ but there was nothing _to_ hide. He had nail polish, which wasn’t good, but it didn’t matter here. This wasn’t even his house. No one here to hide anything from. He should be _fine._

“Nothing,” he repeated. “I just—” Just what? It felt like he was having a heart attack, and he didn’t even know _why._ “I, um—” One hand scrubbed across his forehead. 

In an instant, pressure on both sides. Aminah on one. Felix on the other. They weren’t grabbing him or anything, just… pressing against him. 

“Wh—”

“It helps Jamal when he has meltdowns,” Aminah said quietly. 

Callum’s face screwed up. “I’m not having a _meltdown!”_ He didn’t move from between them.

“I know.”

They stayed put as, slowly, Callum’s heart stopped freaking out over nothing. Seriously, what was _wrong_ with him? It was just a door. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Aminah and Felix didn’t think so, seemed like. That was stupid, too. Still, Callum resisted scraping off his nail polish even when the urge hit so hard it made his hands twitch. He wasn’t that much of a jerk. 

When that weird need to _hide hide hide_ faded away, Callum wriggled free and returned to his pizza. Cold now. Still, pizza was pizza. 

They were quiet for a bit, which kind of made Callum want to throw something. Of course he made things weird. Super. Wonderful. _Great._

“Did that, um…” Felix took a bite. “Did it help?”

Callum shrugged with one shoulder. “I guess.”

“What happened?”

Another shrug. No answer. Felix didn’t push. 

Aminah ate fast, then went to finish the second coat of polish on her own. Felix managed to tug Callum into an enthusiastic round of complaining about their music teacher that lasted up to when they were finished eating and Aminah was finished painting. 

She waved them over. “Come on, I want to take a picture of all of us with our nails.”

Of course she already had a phone. _Rich. People._

With Aminah on one side with fingers in front of her mouth to show the turquoise polish (and Callum’s slip-ups cleaned off) and Felix on the other wielding a clawed pose with each hand, Callum held up a peace sign. His polish was already chipped, somehow, but he didn’t mind that much. 

A snap, then Aminah held her phone close so they could see the finished product. Felix’s wide grin made his eyes nearly shut behind bright green glasses, while Aminah’s were round, almost like she was surprised. Callum’s smile wasn’t very big, but it was there. Not bad.

“I’m gonna send it to my mum and dad,” Aminah said, typing away. 

“Mine too!” 

“Anyone for you, Callum?”

Not his mother or stepfather. He didn’t know how his mother would be about nail polish, but he knew his stepfather wouldn’t like it. Definite, definite no. 

But he could send it to _someone._ “Um, I can tell you the number.” Scrawled inside his maths textbook, still, but he remembered it without needing to check. 

It wasn’t long before Aminah’s phone chirped with a reply. She checked it, then grinned and held it out. 

A picture of Danny and Melanie filled the screen, each with a hand held dramatically in front of their faces. Danny’s nails were a bright yellow, while Melanie’s were forest green. A swipe from Aminah showed a second picture: another hand thrust into frame — Tim’s, judging by the scars — to show off his own dark red polish. Melanie and Danny were lost in wild motion blur, but they looked like they were yelling. 

_Fashion icons all around,_ the text read. _And also Tim is there._

Callum laughed and grabbed another slice of pizza. As soon as it was in hand, he faltered, just for a moment. They could trade funny pictures, they could eat junk food, they could make jokes all they wanted. None of it could quite cover the countdown ticking away in the back of Callum’s head.

He quashed the urge to pick off his nail polish again. Might as well enjoy that before it was gone, too.

* * *

Today, Danny was the one with textbooks. Based on the glance Callum traded with Melanie, she didn’t have any more idea why they both got dragged over to see than him.

After they settled in the chairs they were insistently told to bring along, Danny held up one of the books. The cover was bordered with little diagrams of hands in different positions, all surrounding the sort of generic shot of a smiling cluster of people that graced most textbooks.

“Welcome to BSL class.” 

“What?”

Melanie raised her hand a bit. “Uh, seconded.”

“You two are the only ones here who don’t know any BSL.” Book opened, Danny flipped through the first few pages. “Tim’s Deaf, so he and I know it, and Basira’s parents were Deaf. Jon and Martin aren’t fluent, but they picked up some ‘cause of Tim and Sasha.”

With some clear hesitation, Melanie asked, “Sasha knew it, too?”

“I’m the one who taught her.” Danny’s smile thinned.

It wasn’t the first time Callum heard that name. “Who’s Sasha?”

“She was a friend of Tim’s growing up. Met her when I was about your age, actually.” More page-turning. “She died about a year and a half, two years ago, but she was definitely the good sort. Really good.”

“Good sort?”

“Yeah, like… There were some times when Tim couldn’t stay at home when we were teenagers, so he went to her place instead. For me, it was always nice to know he had somewhere to go whenever stuff with our parents meant he had to leave for a bit. And that _he_ knew he had that available.” 

Whatever the look Danny gave him meant, Callum didn’t know. May as well join Melanie’s quiet.

“I went over with him some too, like for dinners when our dad was abroad. Him and me, Sasha, her brother Mateo, and their parents. It wasn’t just her he stayed with, though,” Danny went on. “A good chunk of his other school friends were glad to help out after he told them he needed it. Plenty of options.” 

Something heavy settled in, and he cut a quick look over to Melanie. “She, um… She had glasses, right?”

“Uh, I don’t—” The immediate, fumbling reply cut short as Melanie’s lips pressed together. “Yeah, she— or I-I _think_ she did. Round ones. And her hair was curly, and blonde, but um— treated, not naturally.”

More quiet as Danny processed that. “Right.”

Weird. The sort of weird that Callum didn’t think he should ask about.

After clearing his throat, Danny flipped his book to face them. Spread across the page was the full alphabet, and pictures below each letter showed a pair of hands making different shapes. “First step: A to Z. BSL’s got a two-handed alphabet, but you’re not going to fingerspell everything unless you want every conversation to take eight misyatsiv. Yak tilʹky vy otrymayete tse, my—” 

“Wow, hey, hold on.” Melanie interrupted with a wide _slow down_ motion. “Let’s give English a shot.” 

Callum stared. Flat. Unblinking. “Um. What?”

“Oh, has he not shown you the Duolingo trick?”

“You already made that joke.”

Melanie waved in dismissal at Danny. “New audience.” She folded her hands and leaned forward against the desk. “How many languages do you know, Callum?”

“Just— Just English.”

“Then we’re just about matched. The difference is, I took a class in Ukrainian when I was in secondary school. I don’t remember most of it, but because I still know how to say my zdrastuyte’s and do pobachennya’s, our friend here,” she said with an elaborate gesture, “Sometimes pops into Ukrainian like I’m fluent. He usually doesn’t even realize.”

Callum gaped at Danny. “So you know, like, _every_ language?”

“Uh, only if you know every one. Which it doesn’t sound like you do.”

Melanie lifted one hand as if she was whispering along the back of it to Callum, but she kept talking at completely normal volume. “Just keep an ear out whenever he and Jon talk. Jon can understand any language, Danny can talk in any language the listener understands. Pretty sure they’ve revived some dead ones.”  
  


“Cool.”

“Wh—” Melanie made an affronted noise. “No, no, you’re supposed to join me in making fun of him for being weird. Because if you haven’t noticed, he _is_ that.”

“I’ve got _eyes,”_ Callum said, rolling them. “Everyone here’s weird. _Stupid_ weird. Being weird about languages and stuff isn’t that crazy.”

Head propped on one hand, Danny tapped a finger against his mouth. “I don’t know if I should be gratified that you’re defending my honor, or insulted that I’m not the weirdest thing. I make a good effort at being the weirdest. That’s a trophy I fought for.”

“Are you kidding? You got the gold medal for _weird_ in every Olympics since _Ancient Greece._ It’s just not ‘cause of language stuff.” 

“How’s your honor feel now?” Melanie’s voice was so dry Callum could believe it was her souvenir from some desert in Egypt.

“Suitably defended, thank you.” 

Callum couldn’t stop himself from laughing, even as the countdown ticked away.

Tipped back in her chair, Melanie narrowed her eyes at him. “So, you know he’s like _that—”_ Another vague gesture at Danny. “But did he tell you he robbed a bank one—”

“I did _not_ rob a bank!” His protest didn’t do anything for the grin spreading on Callum’s face. “Don’t listen to slander. I _stopped_ a bank robbery.”

_“What?!”_

“…Okay, first of all, don’t go into active bank robberies. Don’t do it. I can dodge bullets if I know they’re coming, you can’t.” 

Callum batted away the pencil Danny was pointing sternly in his direction. “Fine, whatever, but what _happened?”_ _  
  
_

As Melanie picked at her nail polish, she tossed in a quick, “Make sure you include the bit about how half the reason you stepped in was because they weren’t giving a good show.” She tried to look nonchalant, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

“I— I don’t think I ever said _half—”_

“So if they were doing a better job,” Callum interrupted. _“Would_ you have helped?”

“Uh, no, they had hostages. Not my favorite.”

“But what if they let all the people leave, and just went for the money?”

“Then I—” Danny paused. “I… can’t answer in good conscience, is what.”

A thud sounded as Melanie dropped her chair back down to all four legs. “Look. At that point? Victimless crime.” 

“Okay, we are _way_ off track,” Danny said before Callum could press her for more on what that meant. “Anarchy class later! This is _BSL_ class.”

“…But anarchy class _is_ on.” 

When Callum’s head snapped over to Melanie in excitement, Danny snorted. “I mean, you’ve got a pretty enthusiastic first student, so. Get your ABCs squared away here, and in your first lesson you can teach the ABCs of direct action.”

“As long as it’s on the syllabus, I’m satisfied.” Melanie cracked an impressive number of knuckles as she twined her fingers and stretched her arms above her head. “Remember, kids: _A_ is for arson.”

In the end, it wasn’t that Melanie had to leave early. Date night, she said. It wasn’t that the archives stood empty afterwards except for Callum and Danny — Basira still not returned, Jon’s office door firmly shut. It wasn’t even the smile Danny shot him for no other reason than because Callum met his eyes. 

No, it was the bit of concern on his face and draw between his brows when he asked, “Is everything alright?” that hit Callum with the feeling that the numbers on his countdown were starting to flash red. 

He could shrug. He could play it innocent. He could lie, flat out. 

He could do any of that, or he could just pull the damn plug himself. 

Rifling through his backpack to unearth the wallet took only a few seconds. Tossing it onto Danny’s desk took less. He didn’t look up, just stared at the woodgrain’s waves.

“Ah.” Danny didn’t sound mad, even as he scooped it up. “I was wondering where that got to.” He didn’t sound surprised, either. 

Callum waited. 

Danny flipped his wallet open. Double-checking his cards were still there, maybe. 

Callum waited.

Danny shut it again.

Callum waited. 

Danny put it in his pocket. 

Callum waited, every bit of him so tense his ears rang, but still Danny didn’t stand up. He didn’t reach out. He didn’t do a thing but turn in his chair to face Callum head-on. No telling what his expression meant, but Callum wasn’t sure what to look for beyond anger he couldn’t find.

“You want to tell me why you took it?” 

With only a shrug and a pinched mouth to offer, Callum _waited._

For a thousand years’ worth of a handful of seconds, Danny watched him, but Callum still didn’t say anything. He didn’t have an answer. Even he didn’t know why he did it — it wasn’t like he had any idea that Aminah would invite him and Felix over the following afternoon, or that he somehow guessed Aminah’s sister might be craving something their parents didn’t keep in the fridge.

It was there and he wanted to take it, so he did. Kids like him didn’t need a _why._

The seconds-long millennium passed. When Danny let out a small sigh, Callum felt disappointment edging it like punctuation. 

“Next time, if you need money for something, _ask.”_ Scar-striped fingers laced together. What they would look like holding a belt, Callum didn’t know. Not yet. “I’m happy to help out, but I won’t know you need something unless you tell me. And you _can_ tell me.” 

That same wobbling feeling from their talk after everything with Juno hit, so strong Callum thought this must be what _vertigo_ meant. Waiting. Waiting. 

Another moment. Maybe he wasn’t the only one waiting. “Just… Please don’t take my things, Callum. Not mine or anyone else’s around here. Just _ask_ us.” Danny’s needlepoint focus relented. “We’ll leave it at that.”

The word burst from Callum before he even realized he’d linked up the letters in his head.

_“Why?”_

Danny didn’t react to his shout. It just made him want to shout more.

“Why what?”

“Why— Are you stupid or something?!” His throat felt clogged, and every word came out strangled. “I’m _bad!_ How come you don’t— get _mad,_ or use any _actual discipline,_ or, or—“ 

“Because getting mad, the sort of discipline you’re used to — it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t actually help.”

Oh. The twist in Callum’s throat tightened as pieces clicked together. It made sense now. 

He wasn’t worth hitting or shouting or getting angry. None of it made a difference. There was no fixing kids like him.

When Callum’s shoulders hunched up and his head ducked, Danny leaned in.

“Callum?”

“It doesn’t help.” Every word shook, heavy with something thick and hurting. The fists his hands balled into were so tight they ached.

“No, it doesn’t.” 

It wasn’t until fingers brushed against his face that Callum realized tears slipped free. He couldn’t tell if that made him want to scream or throw things or just cry more.

Danny wasn’t finished. “It just makes you follow rules because you’re scared. I don’t ever want you to be scared of me.”

At last, Callum tore his eyes from the floor. “But that— that’s how it _works.”_ The gross sniffling noise after made him choke up again. “You’re bad, you get in trouble!”

“But there’s a lot of stuff trouble shouldn’t mean.” Still, _still_ Danny didn’t look mad at him, for _any_ of it. “If you follow rules, it should be because you don’t want to hurt someone else, not because you don’t want to get hurt.” 

Danny didn’t _get it._ Even now. Even with all this. 

“Regular kids!” Callum shouted hoarsely. _“Normal_ kids! That doesn’t— it doesn’t _work—_ on bad kids!” 

Something shifted on Danny’s face, but even now it wasn’t any of the things meant to be there. “Callum, you’re not a bad kid—” 

“Shut up! I am, I _am!_ They _chose_ me! They chose _me!”_ Each word felt like sandpaper. The fire behind them only made it worse.

“They chose me.” Not a yell anymore. Callum’s chest hitched. 

“They chose _me.”_ Now, a whisper.

Danny’s hand cupped his face again, and his thumb brushed along Callum’s cheek. More tears. His brows knit. Thinking.

“…Do you remember the statement from Phillip Brown we found?”

“Wh— my dad?” 

“And that he met Rayner.” 

Nod. Talking about that made all the thick heat knotting up his throat crash against cold creeping through his chest. The hand that moved to settle against his shoulder helped, somehow. 

“Jon is pretty sure _that’s_ why they picked you, Callum. Just because your biological dad met some stuff from the Dark. It meant you were already exposed to it.” Danny didn’t break eye contact. He looked more serious than Callum had ever seen. “You never did anything wrong. You _never_ did something to make them pick you, and you have _never_ been a bad kid. Not ever.” 

“But— But Juno—”

“Is someone who got hurt, and sometimes saying you’re sorry doesn’t fix it.” Another few tears brushed away by Danny’s thumb. “And there’s no way to make that easy. The fact that you feel _this bad_ about it shows that you’re not a bad kid. You did something wrong, and someone got hurt. You can’t go back and make it so the stuff with Juno never happened, but you’re not going to do it again.”

Callum couldn’t do anything but stare. It felt like everything inside him was shaking. 

“Do you want to know how I know that?”

Swallowing hard ached, and speaking ached more. He managed a raspy, “How?”

“Because you’re a good kid, Callum. You’re _good.”_

That was it. He crumbled. Danny’s arms were already open to catch him. 

How long he spent with his face buried against Danny’s neck, he didn’t know. His arms curled in close to his chest like he could hold the rattling bits of his ribs together. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe the bigger hold around him was enough.

Every second that passed, he grew more certain that the next would mean he got pushed away. He had to grow up sometime.

Every second that passed, nothing shifted. Nothing pulled back. Nothing let go and told him to swim.

He had to grow up sometime. Maybe, maybe that time wasn’t right now. 

“Oh— Looks like we’ve got a visitor.”

“Huh?” Callum croaked, but as soon as he opened his achy eyes, he found the answer. Climbing up Danny’s leg and squeaking away was Honeykiller. As soon as it settled on Danny’s knee, it shoved between them and made a weird buzzing noise. Maybe… it was purring? Or something like that. Either way, a wet laugh tugged free from Callum, and he scratched its neck as it nudged its face against his palm and chirped. 

“You mean it?” He didn’t look up from the fur-or-feathers-or-whatever.

“Every word.” No hesitation. 

Callum’s head dropped again to land on a ready shoulder. Danny lifted one arm to circle around his back — heavy, but good-heavy. Warm-heavy.

The countdown still felt a little like it was there. More time added, now. Callum was pretty sure that, if nothing else, Danny would always be here to help add a little bit more.

* * *

The next time Callum bumped into Jan, it was with a reversal of roles — Jan going in, Callum going out. 

“Wotcher.”

“Callum, good evening!” He kept forward a few paces, then paused. “Actually, while I have you…”

It wasn’t _that_ late. He’d be home before anyone got worried. “What?”

“Last time we spoke, it was about how you’ve begun your efforts to stake your claim in the waters here, yes?”

“Uh-huh.” Most dangerous shark. Still cool.

Jan gave an approving smile. “Thinking more about it, an idea occurred to me: I’m in London for the time being, but I prefer to travel, and I never mind company.”

Brows furrowed, Callum asked, “Like, go with you?”

“Just that.” Jan cast a wide look around the Institute courtyard and to the street ahead. “The Thames is a rather small pond for a fish so big as yourself.” 

“Sharks aren’t fish.” 

A laugh. “You’ll forgive me for mixing my metaphors a bit. Either way, there isn’t nearly as much here to challenge you as you deserve.”

“Challenge me?” Was he talking about schoolwork or something? It was pretty dull, yes, but Callum wasn’t too interested in taking anything harder.

“I told you I was about your age when I began to make my own way in the world.” Jan looked him up and down, straightening his scarf as he did. “It’s impossible to truly do that in a path someone else forged for you.” 

Callum’s head cocked. “What do you mean, _forged for_ me?”

“I mean that you’re a kindred spirit, Callum.” Two fingers extended, Jan lightly tapped Callum’s sternum. “And there’s not many like us in the world.”

That much was true. Maybe Callum didn’t know what sort Jan was that well, but he _did_ know he was a lot different than his friends. Than all his classmates, really. He’d never met someone very much like himself, but here was Jan, saying they were similar. Huh. 

“So, if you try to grow and become who you truly are inside limits set by people who don’t understand you, you’ll never be able to realize your fullest potential.”

“What do you mean, potential?”

Jan smiled again. “I know the sorts of things that happen here, Callum, and I know you have a bit of your own power. Correct me if I’m wrong, but those you spend your days with don’t like that power, do they?”

“…Not really.” Jon and Melanie were definitely weird about it when Callum called for _his,_ even though _his_ is what saved them. Got weirder when he told them its name. Jon told him in no uncertain terms that he shouldn’t try and call for it anymore. 

“It’s because they don’t _understand_ it. You and I don’t fully understand it either, but the answer isn’t to suppress it because of that. It’s the only way you’ll be able to grow.” A considering look crossed Jan’s face. “Maybe, you’ll even choose a path different than the one that your current power leads to.” 

“A different path?” Callum wished he had something to add besides questions. Jan didn’t look like he minded, though. Just the opposite, even — each one made him look sort of pleased.

“Quite. There’s plenty of options out there, but you’ll only be able to choose with exposure. _That_ is what I’d like to offer you, Callum: a chance to find _yourself,_ take what things you want, and discard the things you don’t.” 

It sounded interesting. More than that, it sounded kind of _fun._ Somewhere he could actually try and figure out what sort of stuff he could do with _his,_ or even find things to try that weren’t related to dark and shadows at all. 

Plus, from the way Jan put it, there might not be any school. Callum wouldn’t be too sad about that.

“Yeah. Yeah, I, um— I gotta tell my mum and see if she’s okay with—”

“The choice is no one’s but yours, Callum,” Jan cut in. “Trust your own judgement. If you’re able to make that decision on your own, that’s when you’ll know you’re ready.”

“Oh.” That also made its own kind of sense, but… He didn’t want to just disappear on her. Or on Danny, or anyone else at the Institute. Felix and Aminah and the rest, neither. “Um…”

“You don’t need to decide today. Like I said, I’ll be in London a bit longer.” Somehow, Jan made the plain brown of his eyes look sharp as nails. “Don’t let a soul take your self-determination — it’s all a man has, in the end.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Callum shifted where he stood. “Can I—”

Before he could finish another question, a freezing cold hand closed on his shoulder. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” Tim’s voice was just as cold as his skin, layered with false, pointed cheer. 

Jan straightened from where he’d leaned to talk to Callum. “No, thank you. Callum and I were merely exchanging some pleasantries.”

“Right.”

Something shifted on Jan’s face, and he gave Tim that same up and down scan. “Ah, yes. You must be Terminus’ newest hire.” 

“Yep.”

“Then I suppose it must be time for me to take my leave.” 

“I suppose so.” 

Callum glanced up to shoot Tim a puzzled look. What was with the stonewalling here?

“Unless, of course — are you going to rend my soul from my body as we stand?” Suppressed humor rounded each word.

“Are you going to make me?”

Hold on, was— was that a _death threat?_ Jan and Callum had just been _talking._

“What are you—”

“But I suggest you not make a fuss,” Tim continued over Callum. 

Jan shot a raised eyebrow at Callum in some kind of commiseration, then said, “I wouldn't dream of it, but… Fair warning, Mr. Stoker: I think you’ll find that those of us who’ve been playing the game a bit longer than you aren’t quite as susceptible to such a new face as you might hope.” 

He nodded to Callum once more. “It seems like your _friend_ has decided I must be off, but I do hope you’ll think about what I said.” 

Before Callum could answer, Tim pulled him back another step. “You were just leaving?”

“…Of course. Pleasant evening to you both.” 

Tim didn’t budge as Jan turned and made his way back down the street. Whatever he was intending to come to the Institute for, it must not have been worth the argument. 

It wasn’t until Jan turned a corner and was out of sight that Tim tugged Callum to face him.

“Who was that?”

“I— His name’s Jan, he—”

“What did he say to you?”

Callum batted Tim’s hand away, face screwed up in confusion. _“Nothing,_ we were just talking! What is your _problem?”_

“My _problem_ is that I don’t want you to get hurt. You don’t know anything about him, okay, so—”

“Why do you care?”

Tim pulled his head back in clear surprise. “What?”

“You—” Callum’s shoulders hunched. “You’re friends with Juno and I messed with him, so—”

“Yeah, I play around with him some, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you get hurt. I don’t know you as well as Danny does, but I trust his judgement.” Tim let out a short, thoughtful breath. “You’re an angry kid, yeah. I was a pretty angry kid too, and getting hurt _more_ just makes that worse. I don’t want that happening to you.” 

Which, okay, kind of made sense, but _still._ “Why are you so sure Jan is bad?”

“Uh, beyond the fact that you don’t even know his full name and that he zipped right off as soon as he wasn’t able to talk to you alone?”

It wasn’t like he knew _Rosie’s_ full name, and no one would claim she was ever going to hurt him. Besides, who _wouldn’t_ cut and run like that when someone wanted them gone as clearly as Tim did Jan? 

Callum nodded, and Tim stared down the road Jan took just a few minutes before.

“Because that man should be dead. He should have died a long, long time ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: an anxiety attack, thought/discussion of child abuse, grooming  
>  **disclaimer re: grooming** \- like i say in the tags, at NO point is this sexual, neither directly nor implicitly. tma itself is a story about elias grooming jon without ever crossing that line, and this is in the same vein 
> 
> ukrainian translations:  
> (latin alphabet since callum isn't recognizing it as the language it is, it's just phonetic to him. these are done to the best of my ability, but if you notice an error just let me know)  
> misyatsiv - months  
> Yak tilʹky vy otrymayete tse, my-- - Once you get it, we'll--  
> zdrastuyte - hello  
> do pobachennya - goodbye
> 
> on the horizon: directions found, truths unearthed


	8. Hanp'atu and Yutu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[Quechua]_ Formed by two black spots near the Southern Cross, depicting Hanp’atu (the partridge) and Yutu (the toad) keeping a safe distance from the fox and the serpent as they’re pursued across the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rounding the halfway point gang let's hit it
> 
> i'm also a broken record these days abt apologizing for such long waits between updates (at least, longer than usual for me jgkljfd) but december has been a Minor Disaster. this one's nice and long to make up for the wait some!!
> 
> suggested listening: soap by the oh hellos  
> [[playlist so far](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtbsflE5_346VAfjhfHlK2PTnEEFj8KNY)]

“Look, if using bits of yourself worked as an anchor, there’s probably sixteen different places I could have popped up at in Madame Tussauds long before Danny ever got there.”

Probably the weirdest first thing to catch coming into the archives Callum had heard yet. He kept quiet as he crossed to his usual desk, listening the whole while.

“I— I suppose that makes sense,” Jon said. “Not so easy as just… cutting off a finger to leave behind.” 

Danny let out an incredulous laugh. “Sorry, was that your _first_ thought?”

“Well, unless you happen to have access to the _Boneturner’s Tale,_ then—”

“Far as I know, Jared’s still in Helen.” Danny leaned back against the desk he was standing nearest. He, Jon, and Tim stood in a loose group near the coffin, still in its place by the wall. “But that seems like more risk than it’s worth.”

Flesh guy, right. Callum wondered if he was wandering those weird hallways with the same old letter opener sticking out of his leg. Gross. Cool, too. _He_ did that.

“Jared does?” Jon asked. “Or Helen?” 

“Pretty even.”

“If asking for Helen’s assistance is such a risk now, why were you so adamant in getting it when it came to Melanie? Surely it was a risk then, too.” 

“If Melanie said no to Helen, I would have been fine taking it your way, but we weren’t going to just _spring_ it on her while she was asleep.” Danny’s arms folded. “As you can imagine, I’m not keen to sign off on non-consensual invasive surgery.”

That meant more to Jon than it did to Callum, if the look that crossed his face was anything to go by. “…I see.” 

"As alternatives go, I was able to get myself sorted when Danny showed up,” Tim added after a brief quiet. “I probably would have been able to even if he didn’t come to the museum itself, since everyone’s still _here,_ but I think that helped it all get a little more concrete right away.”

“I went there plenty before you came back, though. Why didn’t you show up any of those times?”

Huh. Ghost rules. Callum spared a moment to wish that this was the sort of thing they learned in school — maybe he’d actually pay attention, then.

“I already told you I don’t remember much, but I think…” Tim snapped the elastic on his wrist a couple times. No noise. “I think someone else talked to me, at one point. Money’s on Blake, or Banks, or whatever his name actually is. Assuming it’s not some, y’know, ghostly fever dream or whatever, I think he said something about how I had a solid tether, and to take some time coming back so _I’d_ be more solid. He took _however long it is to walk from Point Nemo to the nearest landmass,_ he said.”

Jon startled. “He _walked_ across the ocean floor?”

“Guess so,” Tim said with a shrug. “Not like he could get any deader.”

“I— True enough, I suppose.” 

Danny brought them back to the issue at hand. “So, as anchors go, we’re thinking people, not objects.” 

“If you cut a bit of yourself off, I think it still counts as _people,”_ Callum chipped in. 

_This_ startle from Jon was emphatic enough he nearly dropped his cane. Danny snapped perfectly upright, taut like piano wire. Tim turned invisible.

Callum blinked. “I didn’t think I was _that_ quiet coming in.”

The weird, stiff posture from Danny dropped in a second, and he put a hand to his chest like his heart had kicked into top gear. “Give a _hello_ a shot next time, maybe?” He looked a little off-kilter still, but he managed a smile. 

“Sorry.” 

“S’alright.”

Tim reappeared, now staring down at himself. “That was, uh. New.”

Eyes squinted, Jon started his usual tirade of muttering to himself. “How is it that the clothing you wear disappears with you? If it were the same clothes you died in, it would make sense — at least, in that they would be made of whatever substance you’re composed of now—”

“Ectoplasm.” Callum _had_ seen _Ghostbusters._

Tim’s face scrunched. “Pass.”

Solemn, Danny gazed into the middle distance. “I can’t believe I’m brothers with Slimer.” 

The pure offense radiating from Tim when he glared at Danny made Callum crack up. He looked like he’d never been so insulted in his life. 

“Slimer? _That’s_ your pull?” 

Before Danny could reply, Jon cut in. “Could we perhaps debate the semantics of fictional ghosts _after_ deciding how I might be able to venture into the Forever Deep Below Creation without _dying horribly?”_

“Oh, you won’t die in there,” Tim said. “Might wish you could.”

“…Reassuring, thank you.”

A wince. “Sorry.” 

“You said Danny’s arrival is what served as your anchor.” Jon rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I don’t have any siblings, so I don’t think that holds much water here.”

Shaking his head, Tim explained, “I don’t think it’s a _blood-relation_ thing. Like, if my dad threw a damn party in Madame Tussauds, it probably wouldn’t have gotten me anywhere.” Danny gave a short huff in agreement, and Callum’s brows furrowed. “My theory is that it comes down to people you care about. And who care about you.” 

“Oh.” Silence for a moment as Jon shifted his weight back and forth. “Um… I— I don’t—”

“Oh, my g-d. Jon.” Tim took him by the shoulders, exasperated. “We literally have matching scar maps. I don’t know what else I can do for you here.” 

“Well, I didn’t— I didn’t want to _assume—”_

One of Danny’s folded arms bent to press the side of his fist to his mouth in an attempt to muffle laughter. Tim’s exasperation doubled.

“Then let me spell it out if you can’t get your head around it: you’re a right bastard sometimes and a prat _always,_ but you’re also my friend, and _I’m_ assuming that’s mutual. Do I need to say it again, slower, or…?”

Jon gaped for a moment. He looked bizarrely _touched._ “No, that’s, um… That won’t be necessary.”

“Good.”

Callum crossed his arms at the desk and pillowed his head on them. “Can’t you just tie a rope to yourself or something?”

The hand that Danny used to muffle himself before bounced in the air a couple of times. _“Could_ we look at it like caving? I don’t think any of the gear I used to have is still around, but I’ve been on trips plenty. Maybe we could—”

Jon’s shaking head cut him off at the pass. “I don’t think anything beyond a torch is going to help. A physical tether would be severed between stones, any larger equipment would only serve to get me stuck, and so forth.”

“So.” Tim clapped his hands together, silent as always. “Power of friendship it is.” 

The laugh Jon gave that was quiet. He still looked nervous. “And we’re certain that will be enough, without something more— more _tangible.”_

“I mean, I can’t do much as far as being _tangible—”_

_“Tim.”_

Tim relented with an amused shrug. “You’d know better than me, boss, but I’m also not the only anchor you’ve got. I’ll hang around right by the coffin while you’re in there, but you’ll also have Danny and Melanie in and out. Martin’s not too far, Georgie’s around if we need to call in the cavalry. Christ knows where Basira’s off to, but when she’s back, there’s one more.” 

The words escaped before Callum thought to stop them. “And me.”

Danny shot him a smile over one shoulder. “And Callum.”

When Jon looked at him, there was more surprise than smile, but he seemed appreciative too. “Well, with that extensive of a welcoming party, I suppose my grounds are covered.” He took a short breath, studying the coffin. “Then there’s nothing else but to go, is there?”

“What, now?” Tim asked.

“Is there any reason to wait?” 

Callum sat up a little. “What _are_ you doing? Going to get the copper?” 

“Ideally.” After another moment of consideration, Jon tugged off his cardigan. “No need for this to take whatever damage might come.” 

Danny scrutinized him. “I know we said no caving gear, but you should at least have some sturdier clothes. And food and water.”

“I doubt I own anything that’s well-suited, and like Tim said, lacking food and water won’t mean anything. Besides, I, I need to go. Now.” There was a strange certainty in Jon’s voice. “I listened to all the tapes with Daisy’s voice, and I think I can— I think I know the way.” 

“The way through the Buried,” Tim said flatly. “You just Know it.”

“You’d think that would stop taking you by surprise by now.”

No comeback for that, so Tim just rolled his eyes. “Get going, Junior Spelunker.” 

The coffin door creaked open. Callum pushed himself up from his chair so he could come over and peer inside past the other three. The stairs he saw before hadn’t changed, even if the orientation of the coffin had: before, it’d been propped upright on the trolly, and now it was laying flat on the ground. Stairs, descending deep below… something. _Forever Deep Below Creation,_ Jon said. Center of the Earth, maybe. Hopefully safe from magma and stuff. 

Jon set one foot on the top step, then turned back and held out his cane. His fingers were tight around the torch in his other hand. 

“I’m off, then.” 

“I’d say _don’t die,_ but that’s not exactly on the table.” Tim took the cane from his hand. “But try to not be _as_ much of a reckless idiot as normal.” 

“I’ll give it my best. And…” It was a little late for all his worries to come to head, but that didn’t seem like it was going to stop Jon. Callum wouldn’t be sad about the opportunity to try and see past those stairs, but beyond stone and dirt, there was only darkness. Not the cold sort. These shadows were heavy — wet, almost, like breath. 

“And you’re going to stay here?” Jon finished at last.

“Got nowhere else to be.”

“Even if the End pulls you to—”

“Jon.” Tim’s voice was solid. “I said I’m not going anywhere.” 

“And if he does, I’ll be sure to rat him out,” Danny added.

“Right. Right, yes.” Jon turned back to look down, and down, and down. “…Here goes.” 

One last deep breath, then Jon descended. The coffin door creaked shut behind him.

Silence for a few seconds.

“How long ‘til we get worried?”

Tim scoffed a laugh. “Uh, I’m about as good at time as you these days.” 

“Great.” More quiet, long enough that Callum returned to his chair and started to come to terms with the fact that all this didn’t mean he was free of homework. “Is this a good idea?”

A shift as Tim settled against the wall. “What do you mean?” 

“Getting Daisy out.” 

“What, you think we should leave her in the Buried?” 

“I’m not opposed.”

Tim let out a low whistle. “That’s cold, Danny.”

“Last time I saw her, she tried to kill me, and Jon would’ve been next on her list.” It didn’t sound like an argument, or like being called cold offended Danny at all. “Basira can’t keep her in check forever, and that’s assuming Daisy doesn’t convince her it’s necessary enough that she looks the other way. We bring her back, who’s to say she won’t just make another go?”

“We’re not gonna let her—”

“I think if Daisy decides she wants something dead, there’s not a whole lot anyone can do about it.” He sighed shortly. “And I can defend myself, but Jon? He’s not exactly someone who’s been in a lot of fights for his life.”

Callum knew this must have been a regular person they were talking about — or if not that, regular in the way Danny and Tim and the rest were. Regular plus some. Still, he couldn’t help picturing something like one of those huge Flesh monsters that came with Jared. Something big and hulking. A monster. 

Danny did just fine against those though, with some help from Melanie. Callum could also stay ready with another letter opener, he decided as he pulled one leg up under him. All of them versus one of her, right?

After thinking that over for a second, all Tim said was, “You know Jon made his decision to get her out as soon as he heard she was inside. Once they’re back, that’s when we figure out what to do next.”

“Yeah.” Danny attempted to stretch his arms above his head, but ended up knocking his hands into the low ceiling. Callum smothered a snort. “Melanie still shouting at Martin?”

“Far as I know.” 

“I’ll go update them on the, uh— _expedition.”_ With a quick wave to Callum, Danny gave a last, “Back in a bit,” and was off. 

Tim set the cane to lean against the nearest desk, then returned to his place against the wall. He went still, there. Like stone. Callum couldn’t pin what was so off about it until he remembered that Tim didn’t have any reason to breathe these days.

Didn’t need to breathe, but that didn’t stop him from talking. Callum just had to talk first. Which, he would. At some point.

Tim kept frozen. Callum wasn’t even sure if he blinked — not that he wanted to check. It was like as soon as he wasn’t moving around, he went back to corpse-mode. 

Creepy. Really, really creepy. 

That served as the tipping point just fine. Being kind of scared of that weird stillness wasn’t an issue, but that didn’t mean Callum _liked_ it. Talking, even about this, was better.

“What did you mean, earlier?”

With some mild surprise, Tim raised his head. His eyes still looked corpse-y — so, normal. “What?”

“About your dad. You said if he went to Madame Tussauds, it wouldn’t have helped you come back.” 

“…Yeah.” Tim lifted one foot to brace it on the wall at his back with his knee bent and folded his arms. “I don’t think it would have.”

“Why?” Callum couldn’t tell if this was like one of those too-much questions he asked Danny when Danny explained all his stuff with the group he was a part of. Tim’s face was too neutral to be of much help, there. It wasn’t the same sort of careful neutrality Danny got when Callum’s own parents came up — Tim just looked _unbothered,_ like Callum had asked why he took a particular street to work. Nothing more than the way of things. 

“I haven’t spoken to him in— I don’t know, five years, so I don’t think there’s enough there to have done anything for me.” 

“Was he mean to you guys or something?”

“Uh, being mean requires being in the same building, which didn’t happen much.” Tim shrugged. “That was more our mum’s wheelhouse, but she was more strict than anything.”

“Oh.” Callum picked at the plaster on his palm, careful to not accidentally tug it loose. “So like, discipline and stuff.”

Tim nodded. “I mean, outside a few things, she never really cared what I got up to, but she rode on Danny a good amount. He used to keep in touch with her, some. Less, these days.”

The leg Callum had pulled up earlier to sit on was dead asleep, now. He swapped legs and shook out that foot in effort to get rid of the pins and needles. “You guys just… don’t talk to your parents, now?”

“Not unless we’ve got to.” When he laughed suddenly, the sound was off. He didn’t look very sad, though. “Although, I’m pretty sure our dad still thinks Danny’s dead, and they definitely both think I’m dead. Or, uh. Dead and not a ghost. Makes it hard to get a family dinner together.” 

Callum didn’t know where to start, there. Both of their parents had thought Danny was dead for some reason, and they let their dad keep believing it. Tim was back from the dead, and their parents didn’t know. It didn’t sound like they had any plans to change that, either. Danny and Tim’s parents were cut out of their lives. Just like that. Callum didn’t even know that was a thing people _could_ do. 

“Do you miss ‘em?”

The long silence before Tim said anything else gave away Callum’s question as one of the _too-muches._ Tim answered anyway. “More when I was younger, not so much anymore.” He shrugged again. “The things I missed didn’t outweigh the reasons I left. Sometimes it doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

“Oh.”

Tim snapped his elastic a few times. “I don’t mind talking about it, but… Any reason you’re asking?”

Head back down to rest on his folded arms, Callum mumbled, “Just wondered.” 

“Right.” He didn’t go back to corpse-stillness just yet. “If you have any more questions about all that, though, Danny and I are both fine answering. Or if you need something.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Actually—” Tim scanned the desk in front of him before going for a pen and sticky note. His goal was pretty clear, so Callum cut him off before he could get far.

“Danny already gave me his phone number.”

A click as Tim set the pen down again. “Oh, right. Good. And you’ll call if—”

“If I’m not safe or whatever. Yeah.”

Callum couldn’t quite pick out what Tim was thinking past the long look he gave him. “You know he means it, right?” 

“Yeah.” It came out immediately. Even past the reflex of it, Callum didn’t see any reason to hesitate. “I know.”

“And it doesn’t matter if it’s late at night, or—”

“I _know.”_ Jeez. 

“Alright, alright,” Tim said, backing down. “Just checking.”

Back to corpse-stillness. Callum didn’t care at this point. No, his attention was stuck to the shadows around that coffin. Darkness was darkness, but not his cold sort. That humid, _breathing_ feeling in the Buried’s darkness felt like it was seeping through every crack in the wood, and turning every shadow it touched just as heavy.

Not the most pleasant thing to get caught up on. It just gave him another reason to be glad when, again, the stillness broke.

“Hey. Bet you can’t nail Danny between the eyes with one of those stars when he comes back in.”

Callum stared at Tim a moment, then grinned and dove for his backpack. “You’re on.”

* * *

When Callum got off the train the next day, it was to see Danny waiting at the station exit.

“Hey!” he greeted when he looked up from his phone. Callum’s head tipped, confused. 

“Is something up? You never wait here.” He’d walked Callum back yesterday, but Callum had just assumed that was because they’d been in the middle of a conversation — pestering about what exactly the Buried was, what the coffin was, what going inside it even meant, all that. Danny wasn’t certain of very much when it came to anything not _Strange,_ as he put it, but theorizing was still plenty fun. 

Danny shrugged easily as they turned to begin their brief walk. “Eh, fresh air never hurt anybody.” His casual tone didn’t hide how alert his eyes were, scanning every face of those also wandering the streets in Chelsea. On watch. It wasn’t hard to guess who for. “I meant to come yesterday too, but I got kind of caught up talking to Tim and Jon. Won’t happen again.” 

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Mm.” Of course he wouldn’t agree. “Anything exciting at school?”

After some time spent giving him the same complaints about their music teacher that Callum and Felix had traded back and forth the other day, Callum switched tracks. “Is Jon back, yet?” 

Danny’s face pinched a bit, thoughtful, as they went into the Institute. “No, not yet. We want to try to bring a friend of his today to see if having another person he’s especially close to around helps. Maybe he needs more to actually feel it inside the Buried.”

Sparing a moment to wave at Rosie, Callum asked, “What if it’s just that he hasn’t found the other one yet, though?”

“Either way, he needs to get out sooner or later.” Based on both his tone and the talk he and Tim had the day before, Callum was pretty certain that Danny wouldn’t be upset if Jon returned alone.

When they got to the basement, Danny stopped. “Gonna need you to hang out outside the archives today, alright?”

“What?” Callum glanced at the archive door just in time to watch Melanie slip out. “Why?”

A pause as Danny chose his words. “Tim’s not too easy on the eyes, right now.” Melanie snorted in agreement.

“I’ll go ahead and call,” she said to Danny. She was thin enough that Callum could see around her without any trouble.

Tim had told Basira he wasn’t as spooky as he would have been if he was _“covered in gruesome injuries or something,”_ but he could check that off the spooky list, now. From the flash Callum caught, it didn’t look like he even noticed. He was sitting on the ground, staring hard at the coffin like he was trying to see inside it without any attention to the fact that he was missing an arm.

Danny took Melanie’s old place in the doorway. “You think she’ll come?”

“Well, she’s been pretty opposed to a lot of the stuff Jon’s doing these days.” Melanie tugged her hair into a loose, messy ponytail. “But that doesn’t mean she wants him to get stuck in an eldritch claustrophobia nightmare for all eternity.” 

“Right.” He turned a bracing smile to Callum. “Sorry, but like I said: it’s probably best if you stick around out here for a bit. I think Basira left her office unlocked if you want to sit somewhere besides the floor.”

Before Callum could ask anything else, Danny shut the door. More glimpses he snuck past Melanie showed Danny sitting on the ground next to Tim. It looked like he was talking, but Tim didn’t seem to hear any more than he noticed all the rips in his skin. 

“What happened to him?”

Melanie’s face twisted a little as she nudged Callum another few steps down the hall. “Turns out, trying to— I don’t know, feel living people inside somewhere like the Buried isn’t very easy. That plus the fact that, _apparently,_ when he’s that focused on something or really out of it, the wounds that killed him pop up, means…” She gestured vaguely at the archive door. “That. And explosions don’t leave the prettiest marks.” 

“Gross.” 

“You didn’t look away from a normal-looking Tim and then turn back to see him like that,” Melanie retorted idly as she tapped away on her phone. “Hell of a thing for Danny to _forget_ to mention might happen.” Another second, and she lifted it to her ear.

“Who’re you calling?” 

“Georgie.” It wasn’t long before she picked up, and Melanie left him with a quick wave before wandering further down to pace as she explained. 

She was busy, so he could get away with looking again. It was gross, sure, but that didn’t stop Callum’s curiosity. At least this angle and the fact that the missing arm was on the other side of Tim meant he couldn’t see much of that one. 

The most obvious after the arm was his ripped-up chest. It was only a moment before Callum noticed what he thought might be a few ribs and decided to not look any closer, there. Most of the rest was gashes and torn skin that lined up with the tatters his clothes had turned into. 

Picking them apart was a lost cause until he noticed Danny glancing between Tim’s remaining arm and his own, then rolling up his own sleeve. An especially heavy red line traced from Tim’s wrist up his forearm, and a scar on Danny’s mirrored that placement. It was like a copy of whatever injury had scarred Danny hit Tim when he died. Callum couldn’t read Danny’s face well enough to know what the furrow of his brows at the sight meant.

Callum pulled away to slouch against the wall, thinking. Whatever happened when Tim died, it gave him something that looked like Danny’s old scars. His first thought was that someone must have _done_ it to Tim, but Melanie said all of these injuries were what killed him. An explosion would be pretty immediate. For some reason, blowing up Madame Tussauds also meant Tim ended up with Danny’s old cuts, like hitting the button to detonate also tore up a body up along those same lines, but on the wrong Stoker. 

Which meant… Callum didn’t know what it meant. Just one more way everyone here was _weird._

He had as much homework to do as ever, but when Professor Ostrom came charging out of a room down the hall to skitter up to Callum, squeaking away the whole time, he decided it could wait. No way would he be able to focus on it today. 

However long it was before Georgie showed up, Callum couldn’t tell. Still, when a woman came down the stairs with her hair in thick twists and an uncertain look on her face, he guessed this must be her. 

She paused when she saw him. “Oh, um. Hi. Callum, right?”

“Hi.” He stayed on the floor to continue playing with the Professor. Putting the shoelace back into his trainer would be annoying later, but fetch stopped working after Pencil ate the namesake Callum had been tossing down the hall for it to scamper after. At the time, it hadn’t seemed to get why eating it would make it hard for Callum to continue throwing. At least it made no attempts to eat his shoelace, too. Yet. 

Melanie opened the door just as Georgie reached it. After accepting a quick kiss on the cheek, she said, “Come on, Danny and Tim are already waiting — and yes, Tim looks as bad as I said. Try not to look too close unless you woke up not-squeamish this morning.”

Georgie didn't look thrilled. “Um. Noted.” 

Callum expected them both to go inside and leave him out here again, but Melanie paused, then put her hands on her hips. “Unilateral decision time.” She pointed at Callum. “Want to go bother Martin into coming down here, too?”

“I thought he was still trying to avoid all of you,” Georgie said.

“He is, but for one thing, it’s a load of nonsense, and for another, I don’t care what he’s trying to do, because again: nonsense.” Melanie’s voice was firm. “Plus, I figure we may as well have everyone. If you, Tim, and Martin aren’t enough to get him out, then…”

Uncomfortable silence filled in the rest of the sentence. Callum saw no reason to linger in it. “I’ll get ‘im.” He was good at bothering people when he wanted to. Pushing himself to his feet, he tugged Bastard Killer up by one arm, then held still as it scurried to settle in the hood of his pullover. Its head rested on his shoulder, and tail fell over the other one. Unless it was a fifth leg or something. Always possible.

Georgie narrowed her eyes at it. “What… is th—”

Before she could finish, Melanie grabbed her by the arm. “Don’t ask. Come on.” 

Callum did, of course, pause to get a sweet from Rosie. Lemon. Halfway to his mouth, a long, skinny tongue snaked out and nabbed it from between his fingers. A loud crunch sounded out a second later. 

He glared at Honey, who chirruped at him. Its breath smelled like lemons now, because it was taunting him or something. Rosie seemed like she was trying very hard not to look at it as she offered out the tin again, but Callum kept off towards the stairs. It’d probably just steal the second one, too. Jerk. 

The cold of the top level wasn’t so bad with a warm… _thing_ settled around Callum’s neck. That meant it probably wasn’t a reptile — not cold-blooded. He still wasn’t positive if it had fur or not. That was okay. Whatever coat it had, it liked it when that was scratched around what he assumed was its neck. 

As he reached up to its favorite spot, he went to Martin’s office door and opened it without bothering to knock. Who cared?

Inside, Martin looked up in vague surprise that increased when he saw it was Callum. “Um. Yes…?”

“They need you in the archives.”

A second more of the lost expression, then it clicked. Martin’s lips pursed. “I’m sure they’re fine without me, alright? They have a plan to help with Jon, and it seems just fine to me, so—” He blinked. “What… is that?” 

“What is what?” He knew what Martin was referring to, of course, but it was funny to watch him squirm.

“The— the thing riding on you like a parrot.” 

It made a sound like a deflating balloon. Martin moved his mouth as if he wanted to ask other questions but couldn’t figure out where to start. 

“Oh, this is, um… Killer, Pencil, Professor Bastard,” Callum answered, ticking each one off on his fingers. “Ostrom, or Honey. Oh, and Tim called it Stitch.” 

“Uh… huh.”

“It likes eating pencils.” 

“…Great.” Martin turned back to his computer. “That’s lovely, but I really do have a lot to get done, so tell them—”

Callum stepped further into his office, looking around the whole while. “Bet it’d eat pens too. Highlighters. Maybe some books. Maybe some computer cords. Dunno. It’ll eat pretty much anything, and it’s kinda hard to catch.” 

Behind maroon glasses, Martin’s eyes narrowed. “Is it?”

“Uh-huh.” It let out a loud squeal as if agreeing. Callum picked at the cuff of his hoodie. “But you’ve got work and all, so can you watch it while I help the other guys downstairs? It might take a while, though.”

“Are—” Martin looked ready to tear out his hair. “Are you _threatening_ me?”

“No.” He pointed at Stitchkiller. “But it might be. Hard to tell with it.” 

Martin rubbed both hands over his face. He looked more _done_ than any of Callum’s teachers _ever_ had, so Callum internally high-fived himself. Besides, Martin should be glad that Callum _started_ with this tactic. He wasn’t above planting himself in the corner and yelling until Martin gave in. 

They didn’t bother with conversation on the way back. The feeling between them was almost like how those breath-shadows made the air go heavy, but here, it wasn’t a _weight —_ this was _distance,_ even if they were right next to each other. Callum never knew a half a meter of space could feel so wide.

Still, it was worth a warning across that distance when they got to the archives door. 

“Tim looks awful. Heads up.” 

Martin’s first reaction was a deep, worn-out sigh. _“Awful,_ how?”

“S’all bloody and stuff.” 

“Great. Great, excellent.” His next breath sounded more like he was steeling himself. “Alright.” 

When Martin went inside at last, Callum followed. He already saw the whole crime scene. As long as he didn’t look too close at Tim, he’d be fine.

Georgie had clearly gone with the same tactic. She was chatting with Melanie, but the distraction wasn’t enough to keep her from noticing them come in. 

“Here to join the party, then?”

“It’s not much of a party.” After scanning the room, Martin sat at the desk furthest from the coffin. Callum was certain people could see Melanie’s eye-roll from space. 

“…So,” she said. “What now?”

“We wait.”

The lot of them startled at Tim’s voice. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and he said nothing else. 

It wasn’t a lie, in the end. Raw discomfort clogged the air. 

They waited.

Danny continued to murmur lowly to Tim. 

They waited.

Georgie and Melanie tried to return to their conversation, for all the good it did against the atmosphere.

They waited.

Martin leaned over to grab some pages off the desk next to him and study them — the same yellowed parchment Danny had shown Callum after getting back from Egypt.

They waited. 

Callum re-laced his trainer as Ostrom went to fall asleep under a nearby desk. Boredom and impatience made him itch. 

When Martin broke their quiet after a million years, his voice was pitched to speak to the room. “Do we even know how long we should wait for him to come back?”

“‘Til now.”

Tim was on his feet (injury-free, all of a sudden) before any of them could respond, and a long, low creak interrupted their second round of surprise. Moments later, grasping fingers strained up to latch onto the open coffin’s edge.

As Tim bent to grab onto Jon, another pair of hands joined them, much paler than his. Danny reached the coffin at the same time as Georgie. Georgie took Jon’s other side while Danny went to the second person — Daisy, Callum assumed. 

The figures pulling their way free looked like they were tossed in some kid’s rock collection and shaken around for a month, then rolled in a mud puddle for good measure. Dirt covered every bit of skin Callum could see, but it wasn’t enough to hide all their bruises and scrapes. 

Trying to get out went sideways in less than a second. As soon as Jon’s feet hit the ground outside, his legs crumpled under him. Daisy couldn’t make it even that far before her arms gave out. None of her matched the image in Callum’s head — she looked _scrawny._ Danny caught her before she could collide with the ground, steady the whole while. Callum couldn’t read his face. 

It took time, but eventually the both of them were free to sprawl on the floor, shaking and panting. Tim fell to a knee to help Jon sit further upright. 

“Welcome back, boss.”

“Unless I turned into Terminus itself while in the Buried,” Jon muttered, then winced. “I don’t think that title still holds.” 

“I think _one_ is enough embodiments of death for the workplace,” Georgie remarked.

Tim laughed in a distracted sort of way. “You flatter me.” 

Loud, hacking coughs sounded as Daisy weakly pounded her chest. Danny kept his hand on her back the same way Tim did Jon, remaining situated between her and the other half of their rescue party.

_“Go,”_ Callum heard Melanie hiss. He glanced back to see her glaring daggers at Martin with some pointed nods to Tim and Jon. Martin wrung his hands without replying, but after a second, took a couple slow steps forward.

Before he could get any closer, the door flew open so hard it smacked against the wall to show Basira, eyes hard as the rocks that had trapped Daisy and Jon. Even the lights flickered from the force of it.

“Jon, what the _hell_ do you think you’re—”

She stopped dead. Staring. 

Daisy’s hand shook violently as she lifted it to wave. “Hi.”

“…Oh, my g-d.”

In that hush, none of them missed when Jon pulled a mess of plastic shards and wires from under him. He glared at it, disgruntled.

“My damn torch broke.”

* * *

Even with all the chaos around their rescue mission, it wasn’t long before the reason the others continued to insist on walking Callum from the train station to the Institute and back over the next couple days came up. 

Jon led the charge. He was still kind of shaky, but not as bad off as Daisy, who was currently asleep on the cot further in the archives. “You said you—” 

Before he could get far, Tim leaned over to nudge his arm with a hand. “Knock it off.”

“What?” Understanding washed over Jon’s face. “Oh! Oh, right. Sorry.” That same weird buzz feeling that showed up when Jon was talking to the courier faded. “You said you met him at the Institute?”

Callum slouched low in his chair. Danny had reiterated a thousand times that he wasn’t in trouble, but that didn’t mean he _liked_ any of this. “Yeah. Melanie too. He helped with all the books when the library got messed up.”

Tim leaned back, hands laced behind his neck. “Uh, we’ve all watched television before, so… Basira, any chance this is our man?”

She rubbed her eyes. The bags under them were darker than ever these days. Even the scar across her forehead caught the shadows. “What did he look like, again?”

“Big guy, ginger, short beard.”

She didn’t have to consider it for long. “Whoever it is has some kind of vendetta. I can’t think of anyone named Jan I’ve met before, or who matches that description.”

“Doesn’t ring any bells?”

The glare she shot Tim was heavy enough Callum could feel it from where he sat. He raised his hands in surrender. “Tough crowd.” His humor faded a second later. “Like I said though, when I met him, I could tell that he’s been alive _way_ longer than he should. Not sure _how_ long, but still. Same thing I get off Peter.”

“That’s the guy in charge, right?” Callum had never met the man, but from what he’d gathered, that wasn’t unusual.

“Right,” Danny confirmed. 

“Jan said he was friends with him, kind of.”

Melanie adjusted how she was curled in her chair. Callum didn’t think he’d ever seen her sit in one like a normal person. “Great, one more thing to add to the _definitely evil_ evidence list.”

Jan didn’t seem evil to Callum. Weird, but not _evil._ Sure, the sudden offer to go on some trip was off, but from the way it sounded, that’s what _he_ did when he was Callum’s age. If he was as old as Tim said, that was another reason he might have thought it wasn’t a big deal. Old people were weird. Besides, everyone else he’d met at the Institute was fine, so far.

It didn’t matter, at the end of the day. Callum had friends here, and Jan said they couldn’t come, so Callum wasn’t going, either.

Basira raised her head from where it was propped on a couple fingers against her temple. “Did he say anything else about how he knew Peter, or what the relationship there is? That might give us somewhere to start on whatever his deal is.”

Another thing Callum didn’t get: why were they focusing on it _now?_ They still had someone else to find, and only one of the two was trying to hurt people here. Jan didn’t seem like as much of an issue up against whoever kept attacking Basira. 

“Just something about being sailors or whatever.”

Jon sat upright all of a sudden, stiff and attentive. “Sailors… Wait— I think…” In a clumsy motion he tried to get to his feet, but as soon as he was up, one knee buckled. Only his cane and Melanie’s quick reaction in grabbing his arm kept him upright. 

_“Jesus,_ Jon—”

“I’m alright, I’m alright.” He took a second to get his balance back before detangling himself. 

“Someone skimping physical therapy?”

Jon shot a glare over his shoulder. “The joints don’t _love_ being buried alive for twenty-six hours, Tim.” 

“Hey, you didn’t let me give you a hard time about any of that post-worming, so. Taking what I can get.”

_“Post-worming?”_ Callum muttered to Danny, who winced.

“Long story.”

The exchange was long enough for Jon to reach one of the shelves and start digging around. “I could have _sworn…”_ When it became clear that Jon would be at it for a while, the rest of them turned back to the conversation. Jon could hear them just fine if he wanted to chip in.

“So, all we know is: big ginger guy named Jan,” Danny summarized. “Really old, friendly with Peter Lukas, sailor.” 

“Which means… we basically know nothing.” Melanie’s nails tapped in annoyance. “Including why he’s interested in Callum.” 

“You’re _sure_ he didn’t say anything else about why he wanted to talk to you?” Danny asked Callum. He shook his head.

“Just something about us being similar or whatever. _Kindred spirits,_ I think he said.” 

Tim rolled his neck, and Danny’s hand flexed on the arm of his chair. Melanie looped one finger around the chain of a necklace Callum only just noticed, with what looked like that old bullet wrapped in wire and strung on. Behind them, Jon cursed as he rustled through the shelves. 

“So, nothing specific.” Basira didn’t sound like she was trying to cover being angry, not like the other three still seated, but it was always hard to tell with her. “Daisy should be able to find him, still.” 

“She isn’t hunting, anymore.” Jon’s voice was firm. All noise from his search stopped.

“What?”

“She doesn’t want to be a hunter anymore. She told me when we were in the Buried.”

Danny made a weird noise — like he was muffling a laugh by clearing his throat. “I’m sure she did.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Just that I don’t think it’s going to be that easy. She wanted to cut herself off while she was in the Buried, fine.” He shifted to lean more on his armrest. His voice was casual the whole time, even with how sharp Basira’s eyes were on him and how tense Jon’s shoulders grew. “But the hunt couldn’t reach her there. Now that she’s out, all bets are off. Maybe she’ll do it. Maybe she won’t. Assuming either way is a pretty useless effort, but there’s a chance she’ll stick with her power — _especially_ if someone’s coming for her partner.” 

Jon pursed his lips. “If assuming either way is useless, then you’ll excuse me for having a bit of faith.” 

“I don’t know how smart that faith is from one of the ones she was most set on killing before all this.” 

Daisy wanted them dead that much? Callum found himself with the same question Danny had asked when Jon first went into the Buried: _was_ getting her out a good idea?

“We already know people _are_ capable of freeing themselves from the powers — look at, at Melanie, she’s no longer tied to the Slaughter, or your own _self—”_

“Jon, we both know I’m just as much of the Stranger as the first day I walked in here,” Danny interrupted. 

Jon wasn’t going to step back any more than Danny. “If you’re so certain it’s impossible, then I don’t see your logic with trying to get the Dark out of—”

“That’s _not_ what I said, so if you could put your _assumptions_ down for thirty seconds, then—”

Tim raised both hands again. “Alright, how about we take it down a—”

“—maybe we could have a _conversation,_ but—”

“You _just said_ that—”

“Oh, look at the time,” Melanie exclaimed with a flat tone. “We should go right now immediately.” She rounded the table with no mind to the argument and tapped Callum. “We’re meeting with Dr. Perdomo today, remember?”

For as much as Melanie ignored the rest, most of them didn’t notice her leave, though she traded a grimace with Tim. Basira kept silent and still, so much so that Callum almost forgot she was there. 

He didn’t put up a fuss as Melanie shepherded him towards the door. Curiosity about how all this stuff worked didn’t mean he liked being around yelling people any more than normal. 

“Is it just us going?” Callum asked once they were in the hall. 

“Danny is going to want to stay here and keep an eye on Daisy, I’m sure, but Georgie’s gonna pick us up. Sound good?”

“‘Kay.” He hadn’t talked to Georgie much when she was here last time, but she seemed alright. 

“Did either of your parents end up able to come?”

Callum shook his head. “Mum works. Dad doesn’t know about any of it.”

“…Gotcha.” 

It wasn’t long after they both stepped into the bleary effort at sunshine the weather was making that Georgie arrived, waving as she came from further down the pavement. Melanie looked equal parts relieved and surprised.

“Y’know, I thought I might be totally lying when I said we had to leave right then.” 

Georgie gave her another one of those kisses on the cheek — which, _gross_ — before she asked, “Sorry?”

“Danny and Jon are going at it again,” Melanie explained. “So I took full advantage of our escape route.” 

Rolling her eyes, Georgie turned back in the direction of the closest station. “That’s always a treat.”

Callum wiped his nose. “Do they do that a lot?”

Melanie rocked her hand back and forth in a _so-so_ gesture. “They think _really_ differently, so they don’t _mean_ to drive each other crazy, but…”

“Jon is the most optimistic pessimist I’ve ever met,” Georgie added. “While Danny’s a pragmatist most of the time.”

“Pragmatist ‘til he goes off the rails. That’s just the Stranger, though. Like, he’s a realist, but the way he defines _realistic_ is—”

“Kind of mental?” Callum offered. 

“Absolutely batshit,” Melanie agreed, and he laughed. “It doesn’t help that Jon is _supremely_ easy to argue with.” 

Nudging Melanie with one shoulder, Georgie said. “It’s because he’s Jewish. We’re very good at it.”

Even with how uncomfortable the argument before had made him, hanging out with Melanie and Georgie was easy. The fact that the station wasn’t _too_ crowded helped. Callum wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Melanie this relaxed. Still, it didn’t change how little he knew about where they were off to.

“Who’s the lady we’re going to see, again? Some doctor?”

“Dr. Inés Perdomo. She’s not a _medical_ doctor,” Melanie said as they boarded. “She’s an astrophysicist.”

“Oh. So like, stars and stuff.”

“She spends more time on the supernatural side of things, these days.”

“Wait, really?” Callum had just kind of assumed that the people in the know about all that were at the Institute. 

“Yep. She was part of the _Daedelus_ mission, but it was on the Fairchild bankroll rather than anything to do with the Dark.” If being in public meant they weren’t supposed to talk about any of this, Melanie didn’t care. People on the tube usually did all they could to pretend no one else existed, so Callum didn’t think it would matter. “There’s a lot of overlap between the vast and the Dark when it comes to space, so even if the _rest_ think going to someone more aligned with the vast doesn’t make sense, there’s no _reason_ to assume that she won’t have anything that can help!” 

As Melanie’s voice grew in energy, Georgie sent a half-smile Callum’s way and said under her breath, “Here we go.”

“I mean, so much of space in general is vast _and_ Dark! That was the whole _reason_ the collaboration even worked in the first place, plus some of the lonely along with that.”

“Are the vast and lonely more of the…” Callum trailed off when he realized he didn’t know what they were called for certain. “Like the Eye and Dark?”

“There’s fourteen entities, depending who you ask.” Melanie slid one of her rings back and forth on her finger. “And apparently, around here, Robert Smirke is the only name that matters when it comes to parataxonomy, but _seriously,_ there’s _no_ reason to assume that just because he’s— he’s _British,_ that means he’s right! Thinking like that is why we had to put up with people like _Freud_ for so damn long.” Her train of thought caught, and she rephrased. “Well, he was Austrian, but same concept. White Eurocentrism. Dr. Perdomo is based in Venezuela, and from our emails it sounds like she frames it in a totally different way, which is _another_ reason why reaching out to her makes sense, because if we’re looking at it _all wrong,_ then—”

As Melanie went on and on, Georgie watched with a sappy look in her eyes. _Gross._

Still, it was kind of interesting. Hard to follow when Callum didn’t know who Robert Smirke was or anything, but he sort of got what she meant. Like, if he was looking at a ball and said it was colored red and someone else said it was colored blue, they might be seeing a part that was painted a different color or something like that. Melanie seemed pleased when he shared the analogy. 

_“Exactly._ Just because Jon is the most stubborn ass on _Earth,_ that doesn’t mean the first set of rules he found is the closest to the truth.” She tossed her hands in the air. “And maybe it is! Maybe they’re _all_ true!”

“But doesn’t using a bunch of different sets of rules make stuff harder to figure out?” Callum wondered aloud as he popped his knuckles. “Since going with all of ‘em means a bunch of different stuff is true at once, so you’re just all over the place.” 

Melanie nodded emphatically. “You’re right, but it’s also _limiting._ It means we might not be drawing connections we _should be,_ just because it doesn’t match the one viewpoint we’re willing to consider.”

“So, if Dr. Perdomo knows anything that helps you,” Georgie cut in as the train rumbled to a stop. “It’s good for you, _and_ some proof for Melanie that she’s right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Melanie said, flippant. “But I wouldn’t be sad about some more evidence.”

It didn’t take long for them to reach their destination — some coffee shop, seemed like. As Georgie held the door open for Callum and Melanie, she asked, “Did Dr. Perdomo say what to look for?”

“She told me she would probably be the only one in a wheelchair,” Melanie answered as she scanned the tables. “But that her outfit would also be a dead giveaway.”

If the chair hadn’t done it, an enthusiastic wave from the woman at a table across the cafe was sign enough. Her hair was a mass of dark brown curls half-pulled into a bun, though the rest still almost covered the UFOs dangling from each ear. Callum wondered how often they got tangled up together. 

She wasn’t wrong about the rest of her clothes being obvious, either. The plain cardigan and shirt didn’t say much, but there was no missing her long, flowy skirt patterned with what looked like a hundred different constellations. 

Melanie led the way over. “Dr. Perdomo, it’s good to meet you in person!” 

“Please, Inés is fine.” Inés shook her hand with a smile, then turned towards the other two. “You must be Georgie and Callum! Melanie told me you’d be joining us today.” She had a soft accent Callum could only assume was Venezuelan.

“We’re glad to be here,” Georgie returned as she traded her own handshake. “Is there anything I can get you to drink?” 

“That would be lovely, actually. If they have chai, just a small one is perfect!”

Georgie nodded. To Melanie, she asked, “Usual?” 

“Always.”

“Callum, what do you want?”

He blinked. “Oh, um… You don’t have to get me something.”

“I want to.” It sounded honest. 

“Oh.” He supposed it made sense that someone from the Institute would only be able to date someone outside it if they were equally weird. Craning his neck to study the menu, he at last said, “Um, maybe… just one of the smoothies.”

“Which flavor?”

“Uh.” Why was this tripping him up so much? “Strawberry, I guess.” 

“Sure. Back in a jiff.”

There was a beat of silence after Georgie left for the counter until Melanie said, “So, um… How was your flight?” 

Inés’ face flattened into a look so deadpan that Callum had to bite down a snicker. “Melanie, we had enough painful small talk in our emails. We have reached our quota.” 

“Oh, thank G-d.” 

“Trust me, if I could skip all that _every_ time, I would.” 

Melanie agreed with something between a laugh and a wince. “It was smart of you to not fight Georgie on buying you something.”

“Oh, she doesn’t look like the type who would let me get away with that,” Inés remarked as she waved a hand. From what Callum could tell, she was older than Melanie, but that didn’t make a difference in her energy. Her round face somehow made the thick dual scar running through one eyebrow and just barely missing that eye look even more dramatic.

He didn’t think he was staring, but when Inés turned back to him, her mouth quirked into a smile. “Are you wondering how I got this?” 

Callum whirled in his chair and locked his eyes on the table, face burning. “Sorry.” Good job, himself. Pissed off the one who might have some idea of how to get all his stuff sorted. Awesome. 

“No, it’s alright.” When he chanced a glance up at her, she was still smiling. “Curiosity is natural. Just know that not everyone will be as glad to answer as me, yes?” 

Oh. Not mad. The brief chastising didn’t kill his curiosity even as he nodded. 

“Well, this,” she said as she pointed to the scars. “This,” pointing to her chair. “And _this,”_ raising her skirt to reveal a bright green prosthetic leg. “All came from the same thing.” He caught a faded star sticker on the prosthetic’s ankle before she dropped fabric over it again. “How old are you, Callum?”

“Twelve. Um, almost thirteen.” Just a few days, yet.

“I was a bit younger than you when an earthquake hit my family’s house, and it collapsed while I was inside.” She didn’t sound bothered by what must have been really scary when it happened. Time, Callum guessed. “I spent a couple of days stuck inside until they could move the rubble without sending more down on top of me. My mothers found a way to get me food and water, but that was all. Do you know the one thing I could see from where I was pinned?”

“What?”

“The sky.” She wasn’t looking at him anymore, just smoothing her hands over her skirt. “And we didn’t live very close to any cities, so when that little sliver of blue went dark, it showed so many stars I could never count them all. Even when it all felt like the weight of the entire world pressing down, the beyond was always there.”

Callum had never spent much time looking at the sky at night. The amount of warmth in Inés’ voice almost made him want to start. 

“Drinks!” Georgie’s voice interrupted before Inés could go on. In moments, she had them passed out — the chai for Inés and smoothie for Callum, and something topped with whipped cream for Melanie. Georgie herself had a bottle of water, nothing fancy.

“Thank you,” Inés said as she accepted the cup, then took a sip with an appreciative hum. “Even with a prosthetic, I can’t walk for more than a handful of steps. I spent a few years stuck in bed.” A laugh from some memory broke through. “Unless my older sister was willing to carry me around that day. But then I got my first chair, and then — freedom. I could move again.” Her smile returned to Callum. “And using that to chase the stars simply made sense.” 

“Woah.” He didn’t know what else to say to a story like that.

Thankfully, she must not have expected much else, as she went on without delay. “But, our concern today is not the stars, correct? We’re here about the space between.”

“Kind of.” Melanie’s head tipped. “I’m not sure how similar that is to the Dark that Maxwell Rayner was working with, but—”

“They’re all the same shadow, yes?” Inés sipped her chai again. “They all form of unknowns. _Bigger-thans.”_

“Right, right, the— the beyond.” 

“Beyond?” They’d given the word the same emphasis they did for words like _Eye_ and _Dark_ that Callum noticed a while back. “Is that one of the fourteen… things?” 

Melanie shook her head. “Remember the different ways people frame all this that we talked about on the ride here? The Beyond is part of Inés’.”

“Well, I didn’t come up with it — I use the system most common in South America, but Europe prefers Smirke’s definitions.”

Georgie sat forward with visible curiosity. “How many different systems would you say are out there?”

“As many as there are stars in the sky!” Inés answered. Dropping the light tone, she went on, “Every culture who’s ever known about the existence of these powers has a different way of seeing them. Think how… how Quetzalcoatl was once worshipped throughout all Mesoamerica. Some peoples used the same name, others used their own — the Yucatec Maya used Kukulcán; the K’iche’ Maya, Q'uq'umatz, so on — and they all saw him differently. A creator deity, or a patron of the arts, or no more than the pet of the Sun. Despite all that, they all had similar touchstones for the feathered serpent. Names may be different, contexts may be different, but we have the same core.”

Melanie nodded along the whole way through like she had some idea of what Inés was talking about. Maybe she did. All Callum knew was how much he’d bungle the pronunciation of any one of the names Inés rattled off. 

His face must have given away how lost he was even in the middle of taking a drink of his smoothie, and she paused. _“But,_ we’re not here for anthropology, either.” A moment passed as she adjusted herself in her chair. “We’re here to talk about something Dark and Beyond. What do you need from me?”

The question was directed at him, but hell if Callum knew what to say. Melanie came to the rescue.

“I already sent you an overview of what happened with him and the People’s Church, but the specifics—”

“Tend to fight our technology. This aspect, especially.” 

“Right.” 

“So what _bigger-than_ was too much for an email?”

“I don’t know if you’re familiar with a sort of… liquid shadow?” Melanie started. “It’s something that Rayner was using to, um… To try and move from his current body to, to a different one.” 

Rather than give him one of those skin-crawling looks that always made Callum want to throw things or scream or do _anything_ that might show he wasn’t something to _pity,_ Inés just nodded and drank her chai. “Do we know if Rayner is currently using the same material for anything specific?”

“He’s dead.” Callum couldn’t deny some satisfaction in saying it.

Again, no pity — Inés instead lifted her cup an inch or so in cheers. 

“Did you ever meet him?” Georgie asked. Inés shook her head.

“I crossed paths with the one I believe is— or, _was_ his right hand, Manuela Domingez, but we never spoke at length.” She didn’t sound sorry about that. “Because I was employed through Pinnacle Aerospace, we had little need to.” 

Though Callum hadn’t seen her face the first time, he was pretty sure Melanie's hesitance now looked the same as when she asked about the statement Danny brought up while Callum eavesdropped from the hall. The one from the Hatendi guy, if he remembered right. “…Jan Killbride was your side of things, right?”

“He was.” 

Callum’s head cocked. “Jan?”

“Different one,” Melanie said with a wave. Despite how easily she replied, some discomfort stuck around on her face. Inés still looked rather pleasant. “Very dead.”

“Did…” He looked back and forth between two of them. “Was it because of the _Daedelus_ thing?”

“No, that was… later.” 

Inés tucked some hair behind her ear. It sprang free again within seconds. “I’m not very interested in being a part of anything that _kills_ people, Callum.” 

“It was still a traumatic experience,” Melanie interjected. There was a small bite to it.

“But can you _imagine_ the things he saw?” A dreamy look crossed Inés’ face. “Well, no. Of course not. That’s the point of the Infinite Shadow, isn’t it? The _cannot-understand._ I almost wish I could have gotten clearance to go up myself, but, well…” She let out a soft laugh. It didn’t seem like she even noticed Melanie’s new stiffness. “That’s not a path I can take. Still, we all do what we can for the ones that draw us.”

“…Right.” 

Callum didn’t know what to make of that — of _any_ of it. Georgie looked no more comfortable than him. It was Melanie who pulled them back on track.

“While you were working with her and the rest from the People’s Church, did you hear about anything like what we’re talking about?”

A thoughtful pause. “I believe I heard the term _umbra_ more than once.” 

“That’s the shadow you see during eclipses, right?” Georgie asked, and Inés nodded.

“It also refers to the darkest part of a shadow.” 

“The _umbra,_ then.” Melanie swirled her cup, and Callum wished he had asked for a warm drink. The cold smoothie wasn’t very appetizing, now. “Some of that stuck with Callum, and we’re trying to figure out how to get it— well, get it out.” 

Light caught on the clips in Inés’ hair as she tilted her head: one shaped like a shooting star, the other like an alien head. “Hm…” Her eyes were dark, dark brown, and felt as heavy falling on him as Inés had described her home did on her when she was a kid. “Do you want it out?”

Stupid question. Stupid question, obvious answer.

…It saved him, didn’t it? When he was with the rest, all hidden in that shed in the car park. And whenever he lay awake in his room or tucked back in the closet, it meant he wasn’t alone. His imagination had been enough when it was all he had, but now he knew he could _actually_ bring it to him. 

He sometimes wondered if his stepfather would ever hit his mother like Phillip had. She said he wouldn’t, and Callum sometimes even believed her. He couldn’t do anything about his biological father, but maybe… Maybe if he kept it, he could be ready to keep her safe. Someone should.

But it also came with cold and shivering fear for the people who weren’t like him — who _were_ scared of the Dark. Callum didn’t want people to be scared of him unless they deserved it. Especially then. 

“Yeah.” 

For a moment, Inés didn’t say anything, only studied him. She turned back to Melanie before the scrutiny got unbearable.

“This part of your Dark falls more among the hidden than the Beyond, but…” She drained the last of her chai. “Any _umbra_ has a source, and releasing it without giving it one means it will either stagnate until it floods like a blocked river, or it will simply return to a host.”

“So we need to have something to channel it into?” Melanie pressed.

“More that it needs something to cast it.”

“And that means…?”

“Shadows don’t roam loose, yes?” As she spoke, Callum was struck with the image of Peter Pan’s silhouette dancing around the Darling nursery until it was sewn back onto its proper body. He didn’t think Inés would be pulling out a needle and thread anytime soon. “So, a source would be somewhere Dark has already collected — not a _surface_ shadow, but something with depth.”

Georgie nodded. “You said a source, but you also said a _host._ How do those work?”

“The shadows, _true_ shadows, seek their own.” A wry smile. “And what person doesn’t have a little Hidden in them?”

There it was again: _hidden._ Callum assumed it was one of the names from her side of things. It made sense — especially so that it stuck this much to him. Sometimes he felt like he was just a walking bundle of secrets. Knowing that didn’t mean he knew how to stop keeping them.

Barely a second ticked by before an idea pulled Melanie straight up. “Actually, if a source is…” She leaned over to rifle in her bag, then tugged a book free — the black one that Basira and Danny brought back from Alexandria. “I brought this along since you know about some parts of the Dark, and— would it count as one? As _true_ shadow, I mean.”

Inés’ eyes went even rounder when she saw it and, after carefully wrapping her napkin around her hand, pulled it over to leaf through with clear fascination. Just as Callum saw before, every page was that same unbroken void. The pages didn’t catch a single bit of light as Inés turned them one by one. 

After a minute or so, she returned from her thoughts. “This is…” She narrowed her eyes as if trying to figure out how to describe it. “This is a map.”

Melanie’s head pulled back in surprise. “A _map?”_

“I— I _think_ so.” Inés’ intrigue bulldozed the bits of confusion Callum could see. “One that charts Hidden places, the unseen, things along that. Like I said before, they’re all the same shadow, yes? This draws lines to connect each to the next and the next.”

“O-Okay, but…” Melanie soldiered on. “But does it count as a _source_ that we can funnel the _umbra_ into?”

“Oh, almost certainly not!” 

“Why not?” Frustration filled the words. 

“Or, mm… Let me clarify — which is funny, talking about _clarifying_ the Hidden!” Inés was the only one who laughed. “First, I imagine doing so would damage the maps and make it functionally useless.” 

Impatient, Melanie leaned forward on the table with her hands folded. “A map isn’t any good if we can’t even read it. Unless you know how, or something.”

“Hidden, not Beyond. Either way, if you knew how to make these sorts of books, the ones that concentrate a power, then binding your _umbra_ here _might_ work?”

“Books, like— like Leitners?”

“Yes, but I’ve never heard of a single person who knew how to _imbue_ books with that power, only collect them.”

“Did Leitner not?”

Callum blew out a long breath as his head fell back in the chair. Every time the conversation circled around to something he felt like he grasped, it’d zip back off again into the unknown. Really, _really_ annoying.

They chattered back and forth for what felt like a million years about books and artificing and some guy named Jurgen. Callum picked at the worn plaster on his palm and waited. 

“Callum?”

He jumped when Inés said his name. “Hm?”

She wasn’t looking at his face. Instead, her eyes were locked on his hand. 

“…Can you take off that bandage for me?”

“Sorry, what—” 

Inés cut Melanie off with a finger raised in her direction. From the corner of his eye, he watched her jolt like Inés had just smacked her. Before she could voice any of the indignation written on her face, Georgie touched her arm. They must have traded some look. Callum didn’t see it.

“Why?”

“Please.”

Again, that same heavy feeling hit like a meteor. Callum spent a moment legitimately considering bolting from the cafe without a word, but he knew as soon as he went to the Institute next, Melanie would finish the crusade Inés had started.

In a slow, halting motion, he tugged the plaster free from his skin, but didn’t look at what was underneath. Inés held out her hand, and when he raised his own, took it in hers and used her other to uncurl his fingers. 

The closed-eye mark was darker, now. Not anywhere close to pitch black, but certainly not something he could write off as pen. It was bold. Impossible to hide, ironically. 

Melanie gaped for a long moment, stumbling through a series of half-finished words. “Callum, you— how long has—”

He shrugged without raising his head. “Dunno.” 

“You need to— You need to _tell us_ stuff like this.” The sound of skin on skin rustled, like she was rubbing her hands over her face. “Like when the damn mark of the _People’s Church of the Divine Host_ shows up on your _skin.”_

“Well,” Inés said. Her tone was much calmer. “If you hadn’t already known what cast this shadow, this would be your sign. You know your _umbra’s_ source.”

Georgie used Melanie’s distracted attempt to reign in how frustrated she was to steal a fingertip’s worth of whipped cream from her cup. “To get rid of it, does it have to go to the same source as whatever cast it?”

With an apologetic smile, Inés shrugged. “Unfortunately, this is the area my knowledge ends. I can theorize — my guess is no, it can be others, but drawing it out would be more difficult. I may very well be wrong about that. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

One last calming breath later, Melanie told her, “You’ve been plenty help, Inés. Thank you, really.” 

“I’m happy to do what I can.” A playful swing grew in Inés’ voice. “Especially when it gets me free chai.” 

As Melanie and Inés chatted more, some promises to keep in touch or whatever, Georgie turned to Callum with an expression he couldn’t read. 

“You know that when she and the others say they want to help you, they mean it, right?”

“Yeah.” If he had five quid for everyone who felt the need to say that sort of thing to him these days, he could buy himself one of those bikes he’d been eyeing.

When she smiled, he saw a piece he _could_ pick up on: challenge. “If you know that, you should let them.”

“I do!” He asked them for homework help and all, and he’d talked to Danny a lot more than pretty much _anyone_ about how he felt about stuff. He just preferred to handle most of it on his own. That didn’t have anything to do with them. 

“Even when you don’t think you need it.” Her smile turned on Melanie, who was still going on to Inés with plenty of big, enthusiastic movements. She reminded Callum a lot of Jon there, with how excited and rambly she could get sometimes. “They’re not going to let you down.”

“I _know.”_ He wasn’t stupid or something.

  
“You know it.” Another look out of the corner of Georgie’s eye. Another challenge. “But one of these days, you should give _believing_ it a shot.”

* * *

It was good, in the end, that he never got those five quid from conversations like the one with Georgie — it would have been embarrassing to buy his own bike only to be surprised with a brand-new one after coming from school on his birthday. Blue. _Cobalt,_ his mother said. 

He couldn’t get too excited about it right then if he didn’t want to be late to his own birthday party. Laser tag, obviously. Still, when his stepfather caught him by the arm when he and his mother were on their way out the door, he stopped long enough to get a _happy birthday_ wish. 

His stepfather ended the wish with a brief but solid hug, and left Callum feeling kind of scummy for thinking he’d ever hit his mother. As long as he behaved, his stepfather was _fine._

“Make sure to win a few rounds for me,” he said with one last cuff on the shoulder. “I’ve got to take what I can get before you go full teenage rebellion on your mum and I, eh?”

Callum just rolled his eyes, but still made sure to say a, “Thanks, Dad,” for the bike before he and his mother went on their way. 

They didn’t rent out the place or something, not how a family like Aminah’s might. Still, a Wednesday afternoon wasn’t busy. Even if they didn’t officially have it to themselves, it was empty enough they might as well have. 

Jamal, as it turned out, was _stupidly_ good. He had earplugs in so the sound of the guns wouldn’t be too harsh on his ears, but somehow he managed to notice every single time Callum tried to sneak up on him. 

All that meant was, when they split into groups of two, Callum picked him in an instant. Aminah and Nicholas made some very good snipers, and what Felix and Lexie lost in stealth, they made up for in sheer persistence. 

The rest of them gave it their all, sure, but Callum and Jamal _destroyed_ them. Callum made sure they didn’t forget that when they all raced out to check the leaderboard when that match ended.

From the gaggle of his friends’ parents, Callum heard a voice call, “Nice!” with some claps. He spun on his heel with a grin to see Danny, with Tim at his side. Callum hadn’t been sure they’d come when he told them about the party, though when he mentioned that his mother and a few of his friends’ parents would be there, they seemed a little more willing.

Not quite true. Once Danny checked that there were other adults going, he said he and Tim would be there. Callum just hadn’t wanted to bank on it. 

They broke for presents and cake, then. Nothing topped the bike, but the origami book Danny got him came close. Plenty of pictures for him to follow along, too. It didn’t matter that the words wouldn’t stay where they were supposed to. He’d figure it out. 

As they finished up their desserts, Aminah sidled up to Danny and Tim. “Is, um. Is Melanie coming, too?”

“I don’t think so." Tim visibly bit down on a smile. "But I’ll let her know you were looking for her, yeah?”

Aminah flushed, and Callum almost laughed. She never got flustered like this, normally. “You don’t have to.” 

Before she could say anything else, Felix charged in with an idea. “We’ve got time for one more round, right?” 

Callum glanced at his mother to check. “Yeah.” 

_“Yes!”_ He pumped a fist. “Okay, okay. Two teams. Three of us on each. And then you guys gotta join.”

The last part was directed at Danny and Tim. Across the table, Jamal’s dad laughed. “Is this offer to the parents, too?” 

Felix’s face said it all. “Um…”

Lexie’s stepmom leaned over to nudge Mr. Ritter. “I think the cool grown-ups have been chosen, and we didn’t make the cut.”

When Felix didn’t argue, she waved her hands at them all with good-natured exasperation. “Go, go on. Us boring grown-ups will wait out here.”

It didn’t take long for Callum and the rest to cajole them into agreeing. Felix leaned over as they walked to the entrance to the arena to whisper, _“They_ don’t have superpowers. Obviously they’re the boring grown-ups.”

“We’re not gonna abuse our— _stuff_ to win at laser tag.” 

Tim raised an eyebrow at Danny. “We’re not?”

“…Okay, yeah, that was a complete lie.” Danny looked to Callum as they all strapped on their vests. “Who’s on your team?” 

“Hm.” He needed a sniper, and someone stealthy. He could be the tank. “Aminah and Jamal. And Danny.” Obviously.

Tim put out a hand to Lexie, Nicholas, and Felix. “We’ll crush ‘em.” 

Lexie attempted to meet him in a high five, then jolted when her hand sailed right through his. “Wh— _Hey!”_

As Tim laughed, Danny ruffled Callum’s hair, then frowned. “You need a haircut.” 

Callum batted his hands at Danny. “My hair’s _fine.”_

“It’s hanging in your eyes, is what it is.”

Grumbling, Callum extracted himself and pushed past them. He only just caught Tim staring incredulously at Danny.

“What?”

“Did you just tell him he needed a haircut?” 

“So?” A pause. “…Oh, my g-d.” 

Tim let out a loud guffaw, and when Callum looked over his shoulder, it was to see Tim hooking an arm around Danny’s shoulders to pull him into a headlock with Danny shoving fruitlessly at his side. 

They didn’t have long to roughhouse before the match began. After a minute for them to split up, the buzzer sounded, and they were off. 

Neither Tim nor Danny were lying when they said they’d abuse their abilities to win — Callum lost count of the number of times Danny would be right next to him, only to vanish around one corner and come out on the far side of an unconnected corridor. At one point, Tim charged forward with no cover in what looked like a stupid move, but the grin on his face made it clear that he had _some_ kind of plan. When Callum fired, Tim went translucent. Intangible, so the shot would go right through. 

Would’ve been a _very_ cool play, if Tim’s vest and gun didn’t immediately fall through him and clatter to the ground.

He stared down at himself for a moment. “Huh. That didn’t work.” 

Danny crumpled, laughing so hard he was doubled over with one hand braced on the wall. Callum took the opportunity to fire at the vest Tim had been wearing just a second ago, as many times as the sensors would let him hit. Tim squawked in offense as he hooked one foot around the vest’s strap and dove behind the nearest bit of broken up wall to refit himself. Nicholas did his best to give Tim some cover, but he couldn’t stifle his giggling the whole while. 

It was funny, too, how easy it all was. He hadn’t thought of it when he told his mother what he wanted to do for his birthday, but the point of laser tag arenas was how _dark_ they were. Better to make the blacklight and neon look all dramatic. For a moment when they first got inside, something stuttered in his chest, but it faded as soon as it hit. It was hard to feel cold when running around like this worked up such a sweat. No chance of silence with all the others calling out to each other, or the loud _pew_ noises from their guns ringing in the air, or the weird sci-fi-ish sound effects from their vests and the different obstacles never pausing for a second. He almost forgot about the mark on his hand. With how easy this was, with how much fun he was having, for a moment he barely cared if they won or lost.

That didn’t stop him from lording it over the rest when he, Jamal, Aminah, and Danny came out on top.

* * *

_Thirteen_ instead of _twelve_ didn’t change the outline of his bedroom door that night. A new bicycle didn’t offset his wait before that outline vanished, overtaken by shadow. 

He wasn’t _summoning_ anything right now. It was just the normal imagination stuff. That was still allowed, right? 

Maybe… maybe something that could watch that outline extra-close, that would know as soon as a single thing shifted. It wouldn’t miss a beat. Covered in eyes, all over its face, and—

No. The eyes didn’t stick, just like how colors never did. He didn’t know why. For some reason, _his_ didn’t like that version. 

Fine. Fine, there were other options. He’d done this long enough that he knew how to get creative with it. What was something Callum hadn’t used lately? There was the one that wrapped all around him with that big mane and poison in its mouth, and then the littler one covered in claws and sharp bits that could move faster than anything. Something new, tonight.

Big, he decided. Big and solid. A reach to extend out, that wouldn’t let anything past it. It wasn’t like the little one that would always get the first hit with its sharpness and speed. It wasn’t like the one with the mane, plenty fast enough to dodge anything that came near and ready to spit poison and spines at a moment’s notice. No, this one was quieter. It wasn’t made to strike first, but it would let nothing past. Still and quiet. Ready. Thick skin, he decided, like an elephant. More barrier than weapon, but he imagined it able to breathe fire, too.

No, not fire. That’d light everything and take away the darkness where _his_ lived. Ice. Freezing and furious and cold. That was better. That suited it. 

The outline of his door vanished. The presence in his room did not. It wasn’t until the front door opened and shut that he dismissed it. 

Callum hadn’t lied to Inés, when he said he wanted the _umbra_ gone. He wasn’t sure he told the truth, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: discussion of child neglect/abuse (past and present), body horror
> 
> [[yes inés DOES have her own lil playlist thank you for asking](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/30IPkbAp9NMJ4HV9X4m2zF?si=7paLffoAQNO8iJUJ4By6_A)]
> 
> also. pay attention to _his_ and the comparisons he's making with it. there's some Stuff goin on there.
> 
> want more of _tim goading callum w a little bet re: whether he can hit a certain person in a certain place with a ninja star,_ [[have i got the fic for you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27848382/chapters/68181870)]. how did this happen twice.
> 
> for those unfamiliar with what a venezuelan accent sounds like, [[check this out](https://youtu.be/2qfhqOhBpzM)]! inés' isn't quite as thick and obviously the audio quality leaves something to be desired but i wanted to include Some kind of point of reference jkshgks
> 
> on the horizon: dropping anchor


	9. Mach’acuay and Atoq

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Quechua] Formed by opposing dark spots in the Milky Way, depicting Mach’acuay (the fox) and Atoq (the serpent) pursuing the toad and the partridge across the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time for a flashback: [[check out this lovely moodboard @silviaelrics on tumblr made for fairgoers!](https://titanfalling.tumblr.com/post/640851393944649728/silviaelric-tma-fanfics-fairgoers-by)]
> 
> end note for CWs, as always<3
> 
> suggested listening: song of the sea by cake bake betty  
> [playlist so far]

In the end, Callum chose against his bike. 

It would have been a long ride, but that wasn’t the issue. The issue was his chances of some cop noticing him and asking what a kid like him was doing out this late. No doubt they would try to make him go home, and that wasn’t about to happen. Being dropped on the doorstep like a dead mouse gifted to his stepfather wasn’t something he had any interest in repeating. Besides, he didn’t even know if his destination had a bike rack. Why hadn’t he checked?

It didn’t matter tonight. The bike would draw attention. He took the tube. 

A new problem: now that he was sitting on the old, cracked seat closest to the door, he no longer had his rush to the station to distract him. Just his thoughts. Not something he especially wanted to spend time with. 

He could think about something else, then. Or, he could if anything else came to mind besides how cold he was, and tired, and sore. 

Maybe it was stupid to go where he was headed. No, not maybe. Definitely. _Definitely_ stupid. What did he even expect? Did he think they could just magic up a new air mattress for him or something? He should go with his habits — wandering the city ‘til the sun started to edge over the horizon, then heading back home and climbing through his bedroom window as if he’d never left. 

Kind of like the Darling nursery, wasn’t it? Except, it wasn’t his mother who left the window open for him with the expectation that he would be home soon. Callum left it open for himself. Not too open, though. Too open, they might notice and shut it again, and he’d be stuck going in the front door. Just enough that he could worm his fingers through the gap to pry it up and slip inside. 

He could fall back on habits, but… maybe this was what Georgie meant by _believing._

By the time the train pulled to a stop, Callum had successfully talked himself in and out of the same plan a half dozen times. Going was stupid. He should do it. Stupid. Had to. Back and forth and back again. No sleep made his thoughts go all slow and muddled, which didn’t help. How late was it? One in the morning? Two? 

At least he had his torch with him no matter what he chose; the big heavy-duty one he kept in his room. Plenty bright, and a good amount of heft to it if he needed to swing it at someone, though he wasn’t too worried about that. People didn’t bother him much when he was out wandering at night. Those that did, he’d gotten good at getting them to piss off, or else going down the right twisting-turning alleys until he lost them. He was good at going unnoticed. 

Tonight was for the opposite, as much as he hated it. It made something cold squirm in his guts to just… barge in like this. Didn’t matter that they said he could. Should. It was like when he might say someone else could have the last bit of candy — sure, he _said_ it, but that didn’t stop him from being a little disappointed when they took him up on that. Some things were done to be nice, not out of any actual _want_ to. Maybe this was the same thing. It probably was. He should leave. He should ride around on the tube until morning got close and he could creep back home.

Callum had almost convinced himself to turn back yet again when at last he reached the Institute. A back entrance, in hopes it would mean going unseen, but judging by the glow of a lit cigarette by the door, he wasn’t the only one trying to hide. 

Maybe whoever it was hadn’t noticed him yet. Maybe he could still sneak off. Maybe no one had to know. 

“Callum?”

Crap. 

Jon’s voice was hesitant, but there was no doubt. He knew it was Callum — _Knew_ — meaning if Callum made a run for it, it would just get him and the rest even more worked up. Next time he came after school, they’d ask. He was a bother either way at this point.  
  


Head ducked low, Callum crossed the small courtyard, one hand tight on the strap of his backpack and the other still gripping his torch. 

“Callum, what— what _time_ is it?”

He shrugged. “You guys sleep here, right?”

“Y-yes, generally.”

“Can I?”

“What, sleep? Here?”

“Yeah.”

A beat passed. Callum waited for Jon to say something about how he should be at home, obviously, with his parents, not at the Institute, because home was safer than where all the monsters and magic and dangerous stuff lived, so—

Jon’s sudden fumbling to stub out his cigarette interrupted that train of thought. “Yes, o-of course you can. Let me, um. Let me just—” He tucked the butt in with the rest of the cigarettes still in his pack, which Callum assumed was to avoid tossing it on the ground. “Come on. You must be freezing.”

Every word sounded off, like Jon was trying to remember a script for how this sort of conversation was supposed to work, but Callum didn’t even know what sort it _was._ Jon wasn’t wrong about the cold, though. Last day of March, middle of the night. Athletic shorts and a hoodie weren’t very warm, but Callum counted himself lucky that he’d at least remembered to grab his backpack before he left. He still had a couple granola bars in there. 

The hall lights inside were on. Not great. It meant, when Jon looked at him again, he saw more clearly. 

“Good lord— Where did…” He paused again. “May I ask how you, um… how you got that bruise?”

Callum didn’t stop walking towards the stairs. “I fell.”

If he had to guess, he’d say Jon didn’t believe it. People usually didn’t — only enough that they didn’t push or fuss, which was all Callum ever needed. 

He could practically hear Jon scrambling for a reply. “You did?”

There was none of the static-pressure Jon had sometimes. Callum nodded. It wasn’t until they were a few steps down to the basement that he said anything further.

“My dad thinks I’m breaking my lightbulbs on purpose.” 

Again, silence. “…I see.” 

When they reached the door to the archives, Jon’s fingers twined and tapped against each other. “Would you— Do you want me to wake Danny, or—?”

“No.” Callum was already barging in and all. No reason to wake him up, too.

“Are you… sure?”

“Mm.” 

“…Right.” Jon didn’t press, and instead led the way into the archives. “We have the spare cot you can use, and a blanket. Martin made it.” 

The cold in Callum stirred a bit. “Don’t you sleep on that?”

“I hadn’t intended on sleeping any time soon, so I see no reason you shouldn’t use it.”

Probably just saying that so Callum wouldn’t feel bad. It didn’t sit well. “I can sleep on a bench or somethin’.” 

“You’re not sleeping on a _bench.”_ Jon glanced down at him under the frames of his glasses. “I wouldn’t be using it right now anyway, so if you don’t, wouldn’t that be a waste of resources?”

Callum shifted the strap of his bag. “Uh. I guess, yeah.”

“So, it’s all yours. Besides, if I do end up wanting to sleep, I believe there’s a second cot around here somewhere.” 

“Okay.” From where Callum stood, it’d make more sense for them to dig up the second one for him rather than kick Jon out of his usual bed, but it seemed like Jon was set on this exact plan of action. He was too tired to argue it.

Jon led Callum to a deeper corner of the archives, where a cot sat tucked between a couple of shelves. A pink knit blanket piled up on itself at the end of it, and a couple pillows lay haphazardly at the head. 

“All, um… All yours,” Jon said as he gestured to it, a little needlessly. Callum didn’t reply, just dropped his bag next to the cot and sat down, kicking his feet out some as he did. Jon continued to hover. “Can I… get you anything?”

Callum shrugged with one shoulder. “M’fine.” 

“Right, yes.” After visibly floundering for a moment, he straightened. “Why don’t I—” All mumbles. “Give me one moment, just—” He vanished around the corner of the shelves and left Callum staring after him. A second later, the sound of the archive door echoed out. 

Callum toed off his shoes and laid down, but as tired as he was, he wasn’t _tired._ His eyes stayed wide open despite how much they ached. Any patience he had for tossing and turning lasted a minute at most before he pushed back up to sit. 

Whatever. He’d sort of expected this. In a slow, clumsy motion he leaned over the side of the cot to drag his backpack closer. Digging around inside rewarded him with the origami book he got for his birthday, just a few days ago. Came with a whole sheaf of fancy paper in the back, too. Not bad. 

Thumbing through the book, Callum decided to give the one he thought might be a bird a shot. It had more pictures than most of the other ones. He could figure it out. 

Using paper as thick as the sheets the book came with rather than plain old notebook paper was weird. Getting the creases nice and sharp took a lot more effort. It had a cool zebra stripe pattern on it, though, which was way better. He’d make it work. 

If he could get the thing to look like a bird at _all,_ that was. Right now, it mostly looked like a blob. 

Unfold, redo… Blob. Frustration shot through his arms, and before he knew it he was crumpling up the whole thing and shoving it deep into his backpack. Didn’t exist anymore. 

Take two. Plain paper, this time. No need to mess up any more the good stuff when he screwed up. 

He didn’t know how the second attempt could look _more_ like a blob than the first. A blob was just… a blob, right? Yet, here it was. Blobbiest of them all. _Definitely_ not a bird. 

Crumple, shove. Take three.

Callum was starting to realize that the number of pictures might have been because of how _complicated_ this one was. Kind of obvious, now that he thought about it. 

He was just about to wad this one up and shove it in with the rest when movement at the end of the aisle made him jump. He must have missed the sound of the door just a bit ago. Jon looked as startled as Callum felt, clutching two mugs close. 

“Oh, I— I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“S’fine,” Callum said as he wiped his nose. “What’s that?”

“It’s, um… It’s a bit silly, maybe. But we had some hot chocolate mix in the break room, and I thought— I thought it might be nice. To have.” Jon made his shuffling way forward, and it was only then Callum realized why going there and back had taken as long as it did — tricky to walk with his cane hooked over his elbow rather than actually in use. Callum extracted himself from the blanket to meet Jon a good bit away. 

“I got it,” he mumbled as he took one of the mugs. 

“O-Oh, yes. Thank you.” Jon shifted where he stood for a moment, then followed behind once he’d gotten his cane situated in hand. “Are you… working on something?”

Callum shrugged, sipping the hot chocolate. Kind of thin, but not bad. “I was trying to make something from the book, but it’s hard.” 

“I could— I could try to help figure it all out. If you’d like.”

Wasn’t like Callum was doing anything else with his night except sitting around feeling bad. He shuffled to the side and tugged the blanket out of the way so Jon could sit. After some more clear deliberation — seriously, didn’t he _ever_ get tired of hesitating about things? — Jon took the open space. Callum nudged the book to sit between them, then handed Jon a fresh sheet. Blue, like his own.

He spent longer staring at the pictures before he made each fold in hopes that he might notice some way it all came together that he hadn’t before. Next to him, Jon muttered under his breath as he squinted between the instructions and his own efforts. Maybe reading aloud, maybe just talking to himself. Callum wasn’t listening. He scrubbed at one eye that’d gone gritty with sleeplessness. 

“Hm.” Jon sat back after a few minutes, face drawn in clear dissatisfaction. “Well. I don’t think this is the intended final product.” 

Glancing at it made Callum snort. “It looks like a boat.”

“It looks like a _disaster,”_ Jon groused. “I swear I followed the…” He leaned over to peer at the page again. “Why on Earth did you choose something labeled…” Another moment for scrutiny. _“Experienced_ level? Didn’t you get this recently?”

“Yeah.” Callum smoothed his thumb over one crease. His hopes for its accuracy weren’t very high. “This one had the most pictures.”

Scrutiny again. Not on the book, this time — grey eyes flicked between Callum and the page. “The most…” Jon took a sip of his own drink. Tea, smelled like. “Callum, have you— have you ever been tested for dyslexia?”

Callum’s lip curled. “M’not _stupid.”_

“I didn’t say you were.” Jon sounded a little confused. “Is reading difficult? Do letters seem to… to shift, or swap places with one another?”

“Um.” A one-shouldered shrug. “Sometimes, I guess.” 

“And do you have trouble spelling, or pronouncing unfamiliar words?”

Callum’s ears went hot, and his stomach twisted a little. He shrugged again. The attempted bird well on its way to another failure sat half-finished in his lap. 

“And when it comes to assignments with a lot of reading, do you find it difficult to—”

“I get it, okay?” he snapped at last. The heat spread across his face, the twist up into his chest. He could feel Jon staring at him, then caught a sudden, short inhale.

“Oh, I’m not trying to point out what I’m— _assuming_ must be sore spots, o-or anything of that nature.” Jon’s own origami attempt twisted in his hands as he fidgeted. Callum wondered if he realized he was slowly building a small tear into one side. “All of the things I asked about are also signifiers of dyslexia.”

“I just _said_ I’m _not stupid.”_

“It’s nothing to do with your intelligence,” Jon explained. “I have something similar, but it’s to do with numbers and mathematics rather than letters: dyscalculia. For me, it’s tied to the— well, the ADHD, the autism, or both, but it and dyslexia can exist on their own as well.” 

But it messed with school. Hard to feel anything _but_ stupid when he looked at his marks at the end of every term, and he knew the one coming to a close now would be the same. At least maths behaved.

When he didn’t say anything, Jon went on. “It may be worth asking to be tested.”

“Why’s it matter?”

“If you have that diagnosis, your school may give you more time for exams and such.” Jon let out a displeased sigh. “Though that’s quite frankly the bare minimum, and the fact that no one noticed _before_ now is—” What sounded like an avalanche-sized rant cut off. “In the meantime, it could also help for others to read things to you.” 

No way. Callum had been fine so far. “D’you think I’m a _baby_ or something? I—”

“No, I don’t.” Jon didn’t recoil at his sharp tone. “You’re someone who’s stuck with a roadblock most others don’t have.”

Sounded like a long way to say _stupid_ to Callum. He wadded up the fresh attempt and shoved it in his bag. His mouth opened to spit whatever would be mean enough to make Jon leave him alone, but he didn’t get a chance.

“Bear with me, but… Say there were two people stuck behind a, uh— a ledge, and one of them was much taller than the other.”

“What, like Danny and Melanie sizes?” Callum didn’t know why he humored whatever nonsense this was shaping up to be. He kicked out his feet again and let socked heels collide against the floor. 

“That… works as well as anything, I suppose. So, someone reaching down could grab Danny’s hand and help him climb free.” A pause. “Well, knowing him, he’d pull out a bit of Stranger nonsense and end up right beside you before you can even attempt, with something about how he’s _been here the whole time, what are you talking about?”_

The vague impression tugged what sounded like one quarter of a laugh out of Callum — at most, a slightly harder breath through his nose. Jon wasn’t wrong, though. 

“But then, you reach back down to grab Melanie, and you can’t make contact because of the added distance. So, you need to get her a— a ladder, or a rope, or—”

“Or Danny’s weirdly long arms.”

“Or those.” Back to fiddling with his paper. Jon still hadn’t noticed the tear. “Because of the way she’s built, this specific issue requires extra help. She’s not wrong for it. It’s nothing she did, or something that needs to be _fixed._ All it means is that, when situations that rely on that— that _part_ come up, she needs an alternative.”

Stupid or no, Callum got his point. “Bet she got bad marks in gym class. Short, and she’s all scrawny.”

“I’d suggest not letting her hear you say that,” Jon returned lightly. “Between us, you’re the one who saw her fighting Jared and the rest. I think you know better than most that she isn’t going to let something as trivial as _height_ stop her. She just needs some assistance if she wants to stab someone in the eye.” 

That got half a laugh rather than a quarter. Callum scrubbed his eyes again, then winced when he pressed too hard on still-tender skin. “Guess so.”

“So, in return to my original point, your needing more time to read things, or having someone read them for you — those aren’t markers of intelligence.” Jon sipped his tea. “In fact, I’d say that recognizing a problem and finding a solution rather than attempting to brute force your way through would be a _positive_ sign of it.”

Whatever he was supposed to say to that, Callum didn’t know it. He drank his hot chocolate to avoid having to try. 

“I do know that everyone here in the archives would be glad to help.” Jon’s fingers drummed against his mug, and Callum noted that he had nearly as many scars there as Danny. Different sort, though. Burns.

“You guys are busy.”

“Not at every moment of every day,” countered Jon. “And certainly not busy enough that none of us can pause to read aloud assignment questions and such. It’s not as if it’d be new territory — I spend quite a bit of time reading aloud.” 

“All the tapes and stuff, right?”

“Just those.” Another sip. “And Basira does plenty of her own, as well. Tim’s situation often leaves him a bit… _distant_ , and if Danny isn’t around, she’s found that reading helps as a sort of focal point for him to ground himself. I believe they’re currently working their way through _The Princess Bride.”_

“Oh.” Callum didn’t know what to think about that, or about Basira at all. Excluding Daisy for obvious reasons, she was the one he understood the least, even though he knew her before he ever started coming here. Thinking of her only brought up a handful of connections: shepherding him out of that warehouse and leaving (or, so they thought) all the Dark behind; grabbing him before he could slip into artifact storage and explore; keeping one arm up as a shield between him and the room when Melanie attacked Danny; planting herself between him and the courier as soon as Callum was discovered. 

Blocking. It almost felt like he saw her silhouette more than he ever did her.

He didn’t realize his hands were moving over new paper in familiar motions until he had a ninja star flipping between his fingers. Jon glanced over, then hummed. 

“Well, if neither of us can figure out this damn bird, we always have that.” It wasn’t until Callum snorted that Jon realized he’d cursed, and one hand flew to his mouth. “Darn. Darn bird.”

“Too late.”

“I’m well aware,” Jon sighed. “How long have you known how to make those stars?”

“Dunno.” Long enough that Callum didn’t even remember _learning._ “When I was eight or nine or something, I was taking the bus to my gran’s and I flicked one at this weird goth guy, ‘nd then he flicked it back at me, and we just kept going back and forth for ages.”

Jon got a strange look on his face. “A— A weird goth guy?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“This is going to be a strange question, but… did he have any tattoos?”

Normally the years between then and now would have fogged over details like that, but these stuck out. “Yeah, like, all over on his hands and stuff. Eyes, I think.”

Head dropped, Jon let out a short laugh. “What are the _chances?”_

Callum’s brows furrowed. “Do you know him or something?”

“…Yes. His name is Gerry. He was a… a friend.” 

“Oh.”

“Most stories about him are him being all— not _monster-hunter action-hero,_ but a, um— A book hunter, with a penchant for books that fought back.” Jon’s voice went sort of nostalgic. “Hearing something so mundane about him is just… It’s nice, to know he had days like that as well.”

Callum was pretty sure he’d lost the plot of the conversation two full minutes ago, but he didn’t say as much as he started in on another star. Jon turned the torn bird in his lap. 

“You were… visiting your grandmother, you said?”

“Uh-huh. I always go between terms.” He used a thumbnail to make the next crease extra-sharp. “Second term’s just about up, so I’m going again pretty soon.” Maybe… maybe she’d read _Peter Pan_ to him. 

When the torn page left Jon’s hands, Callum handed him a new one, and he leaned right back in on the book. “I was raised by my dadima, actually.”

“Your what?”

“Dadima,” Jon explained. “Although others would call her _dadi-ji._ It’s the Hindi word for grandmother.” 

“Oh.” Another fold, a tuck. Star two, complete. “Your gran raised you?”

“She did. Both of my parents passed away when I was rather young, but they and I already lived with her, so it made the most sense.”

Huh. Callum didn’t think he’d mind living with his own grandmother. Clam chowder access for _always._ She lived pretty far though, so hanging out with his friends would be a pain.

“Was she… nice?” The question was stilted, but he didn’t really know what else to say. Jon didn’t answer for a moment, still narrowing his eyes at the instructions in front of him. 

“She— she tried her best.” Quiet as he made another fold. Callum didn’t interrupt. “It took a long time for me to realize that what I had thought was resentment for having to raise another child was simply her attempting to put on a strong exterior.” 

“So she was all closed off and stuff.”

“Often, yes. Sometimes, it’s hard to understand why a guardian behaves the way they do until you’ve grown.”

Callum kicked his foot out again and grumbled, “I’ll understand when I’m older?”

“What?” Jon blinked at him, then shook his head. “I don’t mean it as some… poignant commentary on your own situation. They’re far different.” 

If there was some right thing to say to that, Callum didn’t know what it was. Jon kept on after a moment. “So, when you’re older, there might be things you understand the motive for more than you do now, but it can be that alone — _understanding_ it. It doesn’t have to mean that the harm those things caused vanishes, or that you forgive those things. The _why_ is just… what it is.” 

“Is that what you did with your… dadima?”

“Dadi-ji,” Jon corrected. “And… to a degree. Part of my own understanding is that she— or, I _suspect_ she was touched by the Vast at one point or another during her life.” He sighed. “That on top of the trauma of losing her son and daughter-in-law in such close succession… It guaranteed a certain amount of distance. Understanding the things that caused it does nothing to change the fact that it was there at all.”

He trailed off, squinting at the page again. Callum ground the heel of his hand against his eye. After more muttering and another fold, Jon went on. “You can love a person and know they love you without that negating harm they may have caused.”

“Okay.” At this point, Callum was mostly just nodding along. The muddle in his thoughts from no sleep hadn’t gone anywhere. 

“So it’s, um… It’s important to…” Trailing in and out, Jon hunched over the origami book again. “And, you— you have to…” Fold, crease. “You… Is it like _that?”_ Half-finished sentences wavered in and out before Jon sat bolt upright. “Bird!”

“Wha?” Sleepiness softened the word, but most fell away in a second. “You got it?” 

“I— I think so!” Jon held forward a figure of pink angles and folds. “Yes, it— it matches the picture!” 

The triumph in his voice made Callum grin. “You got it!”

“Here, get a fresh page, I’ll show you—” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Callum was already pulling out a sheet. “So you start like— like _this,_ right?”

“Yes, exactly, but before, we missed that you fold this piece _back,_ which is how you build the wings a few steps from now. Then, this goes… _here?_ Or, no— no, _there…”_

* * *

  
  
  


The first time Callum woke up, he was alone, for the most part. Scrunching forward to drag his blanket back over more than just his legs showed Jon sitting in a chair at the end of the aisle that Callum didn’t remember being there before. He glanced over at the movement, but if he meant to say something or get up, Callum fell asleep again before he got the chance. 

The next time he woke, it wasn’t quite _waking._ He sort of registered conversation, but his eyes never opened, and his body felt heavy. Warm too, all wrapped up in a blanket and in the already-warm basement. No, he wasn’t getting up just yet. 

“…said he fell.”

“Damn near textbook. Did…”

Ugh, a draft. Callum shifted a little to tuck his feet under the blanket. 

“…about 1:45 AM, but I’m not…”

“…himself?”

“As far as I…”

Whatever they were talking about, it didn’t sound worth leaving bed for. The voices faded out as he sank back into sleep.

A light shake on his shoulder and a quiet, “Hey, Callum?” made him surface again some time later. He cracked one baleful eye open to see Danny crouched next to his cot.

“I was going to let you sleep in,” he started, smiling in apology. “But do we need to get you home soon? Or do either of your parents know you’re here?”

_“Hnng…”_

“I know, I know.” There was some laughter in his voice. “Come on.”

Sniffing, Callum mumbled, “Today Sunday?”

“Yeah.”

His thoughts moved slow, like his brain had turned to cotton fluff overnight. “Um. Mum’s at church, ‘nd work after.”

“What about your dad?” At least Danny was talking kind of quiet. “Do you need to be home before he notices you’re gone?”

“Uh-uh.” The heel of Callum’s hand went to grind against his eye, but as soon as he pressed too hard, he winced. Still tender.

“Careful.”

Another grumble. “Dad won’t care.”

“You’re sure?”

Callum hummed in what he hoped sounded like affirmation as his eyes slipped back shut. 

“Alright. Get some sleep.” The hand lifted off his shoulder to card through his hair, then he heard steps moving away from his little corner between shelves.

It wasn’t as if Callum fell back asleep _immediately,_ no matter how much he’d like to. Even this drowsy, he caught an exchange not too far off.

“What’s the verdict?”

“He said his mum worked, and his dad wouldn’t care if he was gone.”

“Not surprising.” 

A bit of silence, then, “G-d, is this how Mr. and Mrs. James felt about us?”

“Uh, from what Sasha told me? It’s _exactly_ how they felt. Pretty sure Mrs. James was ready to charge off to Mum’s house and start a riot after that time she tried to cut my hair.” 

“I want to _shake_ Caroline. She _knows—”_ The thought ended with a harsh sigh.

“We’ll just keep an eye out. Whatever happens, we’re always gonna be around here for him.”

“…Do you really believe that, even with all your End stuff?”

“It doesn’t matter if I do. Just matters that _he_ does.”

* * *

  
  
  


When Callum woke for real, it was to the sound of more muted speech. His half-asleep brain immediately compared himself to one of those weird little tapes that popped up all over the place at random, an association that slipped right away with how _wrong_ it felt. Still, tossing that didn’t mean the conversation stopped. 

“How long has it been since the last one?” Jon. 

“Nineteen days,” Basira, voice flooded with resentment. “One and two were about a month apart, two and three were about two weeks, three and four were a week. It stopped the whole _getting faster_ trend a while ago.”

Pushing himself up to sit, Callum yawned, then wondered if the others kept any cereal around here. Maybe a bagel.

“Probably isn’t as easy as them giving up or something, right?” Tim said. He didn’t sound too hopeful.

As Callum began his groggy meander toward the cluster of desks where the others were talking, Daisy answered, “Whoever it is, they’re still out there.” Complete certainty, and no one argued it.

Danny offered a new possibility. “It could also be that it targeted something you haven’t noticed yet, and they’re waiting for you to see before they move to the next stage of the game. Not as fun without your players, right?”

“Also very possible,” agreed Jon. “Do we still have no lead as to _why_ they’re doing any of this?”

The sigh from Basira came sharp. “I haven’t got any secret notes with a motive. Bells still don’t mean anything to me, either.” 

“Or me,” Daisy added. 

Whatever the rest thought about that, Tim interrupted it with a wave when he noticed Callum stumble in. “Rise and shine, morning glory.” Callum’s only reply was a grumble. His mouth felt all tacky and gross. Did he remember to put his toothbrush in his bag? 

Danny leaned on his folded arms where they were set on his desk. “Sleep okay?”

Another grumble. “S’there any food?”

“Should be some cereal bars and bagels in the break room.” _Score._

“Doesn’t Melanie have donuts somewhere around here?” 

Jon’s suggestion made Basira raise her eyebrows. “Do you _want_ to see what happens if someone takes one without asking her?”

“…Fair enough.” 

The sort-of-joke didn’t shake away any of Basira’s clear frustration as she pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll go with you. I need some coffee.” 

Callum shrugged in acceptance. He’d be fine alone, but if she wanted her own breakfast, what did he care? 

As they made their way for the door, Jon’s voice followed them out. “There’s a chance that something entirely mundane interrupted the person’s vendetta, completely unrelated to us or to their plan.”

“Whoever it is, they’re alive, I know that much.” Tim sounded the same as Daisy did a bit earlier. Complete certainty. “And they don’t seem like the type to give up or get bored. Just another waiting game.”

From how their steps echoed in the halls, Callum thought that the Institute might be plain empty. He didn’t trust his senses much though, not when he was still half-asleep. His attention was all on how heavy his eyes still were. He didn’t know where the break room was, but Basira must — he’d just stick next to her.

At least it wasn’t far. Ground floor, so they only had to go up one flight of stairs. Inside were a couple rickety tables, a couch squished against the wall, some cabinets, the works. Basira made right for an old coffeemaker. 

“Those cabinets have bagels and all that. Dishes are in the one by the fridge.” 

“Toaster?” 

“Over here.” 

Their quiet as they each went about their business was, Callum supposed, comfortable enough. Arms crossed, Basira continued to stare a hole in the floor from her place leaning against the countertop. With the way her head was dipped, the bright light couldn’t quite catch the scar on her forehead.

The quiet broke without preamble from Basira. “Jon said you came here pretty late.” 

“Yeah.” One of Callum’s hands snagged the small bag of bagels from a cabinet, and the other pulled the toaster closer to him.

“Do you wander around a lot at night?”

“Some.” 

Whatever she thought about that, he couldn’t tell. “Where do you go?”

“Nowhere.” Callum shrugged as he claimed one of the chairs. “Just walk around, or ride the tube for a while.” 

“In the middle of the night, in London, by yourself,” Basira summarized with a flat tone. He shrugged again.

“People usually don’t bother me or nothing.”

“Usually.”

Shrug the third.

“You’re not doing that anymore.”

Callum rolled his eyes. She didn’t _get_ it, and he didn’t feel like _making_ her get it. Not worth the effort.

“If you need to leave home at night, you come here.”

Oh. Huh. 

“There’s a payphone across the street, so call me from that so I can let you in. I’ll give you my number when we go back downstairs. And some change.” The pot at her back chimed as the coffee finished brewing, and she turned to pour herself a cup. “I’ll see about getting you a key to the side door so you won’t have to do all that for long, too.”

Once the toaster popped, Callum pushed himself to his feet to grab the bagel. “Danny gave me his. I can call him.” He was pretty sure he still had it memorized. 

Also, a _key_ to the place? Jeez. Definitely a shift from when she seemed ready to bell him like a housecat if it meant he wouldn’t wander anywhere she didn’t like. He wasn’t going to complain. 

Strawberry cream cheese, nice. 

“That works. Just call someone.”

Before she could say anything else, a shuffling noise came from the hall that the scrape of a knife against Callum’s bagel couldn’t mask. Callum didn’t know what to make of it, but Basira just rolled her eyes the same way he had a minute ago.

“We can hear you, Martin.”

Silence, then the man himself appeared in the doorway. “Just wanted to make some tea.”

“Uh-huh.”

Martin skirted the room and towards an electric kettle, but paused when he saw Callum. “Um. Hello.” 

“Hi.” 

After staring for a moment, Martin turned to Basira without his eyes leaving Callum. “Why is he, uh… here?”

“He stayed the night.” 

“Stayed the—” Confusion, then understanding. Callum considered pitching the second half of his bagel at him. “And the…?” Martin continued with a vague gesture towards his own face.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Martin threw an incredulous expression at Basira over one shoulder. “I— _Why_ would I not worry about that?” 

“We’re handling it. If you’re that worried about him, we’re still going through ways to get rid of the _umbra.”_ There was something sharp in her eyes. “You know where we’ll be if you want to help with something.”

Lips pursed, Martin said, “Of course I want to help, I’m just—”

“Busy.”

“Right.” Terse. 

Callum’s eyes bounced between them. Some kind of silent argument there, and not one he cared about very much. “I dunno what you’re doing all the time, but I don’t think any of ‘em downstairs are gonna stop bothering you about it.” He took a bite of his bagel. “And Tim’s a ghost, so he can just haunt you and stuff without getting tired. Kinda seems like a waste of time.” 

Martin stared at Callum again, then again looked at Basira. The sharp glint had left to make way for clear amusement. 

“He said it, not me.” 

Staring turned to glaring, still at her. “Right. Well, when I want to take a twelve-year-old’s job advice, I’ll be sure to _ask_ for it.” 

Tosser. Callum spent another moment wondering if losing half his bagel would be worth the face when it smacked into Martin’s glasses, cream cheese first. “I’m _thirteen.”_

“Oh, that’s _much_ better.” Martin tugged off his glasses to clean them with his shirt, and Callum tried to decide if throwing his bagel now would be funnier. “I’m sure I’ll see you both soon.”

He was halfway to the door when Basira interrupted. “Weren’t you going to make tea?” 

“I— I’ll get it _later,_ when no one is trying to _manipulate me.”_

“So, you’re going to get it after you quit working with Peter?”

Eyes narrow, Martin turned on his heel. “As hard as it might be for you to believe, Basira, I’m not an idiot.”

“I didn’t say you were.” She took a sip of coffee. “Doesn’t mean you’re not acting like one.” 

They maintained tense eye contact for a couple of seconds before Martin broke it off. He was nearly out the door when Callum called after him.

“I like the blanket you made. The pink one.” He wiped his nose. “It’s warm.”

Martin had stopped in his tracks, head turned just enough that Callum could catch his profile. He looked like he was debating saying something. It didn’t last — without a word, he returned to the hall and left only silence behind.

Callum bit into the unthrown second half of his bagel. In the end, eating it was better than whatever face he might have gotten from Martin. Probably. 

“I meant what I told him, you know.” 

The cheap, fake wood of the break table didn’t hold Callum’s attention, and he glanced up at Basira. “Huh?”

“That we’re trying to figure out a way to take care of the _umbra._ Melanie is looking into some theories, and I’ve got my own.” 

Cream cheese stuck in his throat, and he swallowed hard. “Okay.” What else was he supposed to say to that?

Basira pushed off the counter to sit at the chair across from him. The break room light outlined her in that same old silhouette. “I’m going to fix this. No matter what.”

Callum didn’t fight the uncertainty crossing his face. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you care so much?”

A long moment passed. The black coffee in Basira’s mug wasn’t some Magic 8 Ball that would give her an answer if she looked hard enough, but her eyes stayed locked on it as if she might find something there anyway.

“Saving you was the one bit of good I did on the force. I’m not going to let anything take that. Not from either of us.”

* * *

  
  
  


_“Just a week. I always go between terms.”_

_“Getting out of the city for a bit sounds nice. If any new monsters come attack the place while you’re gone, I’ll give you the whole story when you get back.”_

_“Promise?”_

_“Promise.”_

There were no weird goths for Callum to fling paper stars back and forth with on the bus this time. Didn’t stop Callum from making some, or from flicking them at a few especially-boring looking folks. It took some wrestling with the paper, but he even managed to recreate the bird Jon had figured out. 

Despite that distraction, Callum found himself painfully bored long before they reached the proper stop. Staring out the window could only go so far, especially when he had almost two hours to kill.

Still, when it took three steps for him to get swept up in a hug, it didn’t feel like too bad of a commute.

He let his grandmother smother him for a moment before wiggling free. 

“Hi, gran.”

His grandmother smiled as she brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Well, hello there. I almost couldn’t see you past all that.”

Callum’s nose wrinkled. “My hair’s _fine.”_

“Is that the style these days? I can never get it straight.” That earned some rolled eyes, and though she tutted, Callum knew she wasn’t actually annoyed. “I must have some catching up to do. Come on, you can tell me on the way.” 

A cool breeze cut through the springtime sun. It always did in Dover — this close to the coast, no avoiding that. At least his grandmother didn’t live anywhere near the touristy parts of the city, no matter how often his mother suggested moving somewhere a little less remote. Callum knew she wasn’t going anywhere. Moving meant leaving the lighthouse behind.

The driver’s seat of the car his grandmother led him to was occupied by some neighbor of hers. Callum was pretty sure he’d seen him before on past visits, but hell if he could remember the bloke’s name. He waved back anyway. 

“Anywhere else you need to stop before we’re off?”

“No, just back home would be lovely, Duncan.”

Duncan. Callum would forget before now and his next visit, and that was assuming he wouldn’t before the week was out.

“So,” his grandmother said. “Have you been up to anything exciting lately?”

No doubt. Wasn’t much he could tell her, though. 

Maybe Tim’s April Fools pranks the day after he slept there — but no, those all hinged on his ghost business, not to mention explaining why Callum was there overnight in the first place. Definitely not.

Maybe Killer/Pencil/Professor Bastard/Ostrom/Honey/Stitch/Leverage (the name Martin gave it after Callum used it to convince him to help, which made Tim _howl_ with laughter after getting the full story), but considering what it was — whatever that might be — it was a definite no, too.

Maybe the cool stunts Melanie did when fighting— nope. No.

At last, Callum answered, “We’re reading _Peter Pan_ in class.”

“Oh? What do you think so far?”

_“Boring.”_ He was starting to think Felix was right: the whole thing would be _way_ better if Peter just joined up with the pirates.

“Always the way with school books, hm?” Duncan said from the front. Groaning, Callum nodded, and his grandmother laughed. 

“Well, at least you’ll have a nice break from all that.”

“I guess.”

It didn’t take too long to get to his grandmother’s house, at least. Not so long he got all itchy with boredom again. As they pulled up to the little clapboard place, chickens milling around in the yard, his grandmother attempted to press a few pound notes in Duncan’s hands while he waved her off. 

“Honestly, Heather, it’s fine.”

“I swear, you drive all over, at least let me—”

“Look, just make me another round of those gingersnaps and we’ll call it even, alright?”

Callum’s grandmother pursed her lips as she wagged a finger at him. “One of these days, you _will_ let me pay you.” 

“I look forward to it,” Duncan laughed. His car pulled off down the long stretch of road to her house, trailing dust in the air behind. The sheer exasperation in his grandmother’s rolled eyes made Callum bite down on a grin as they walked together up the stone path to the door. 

“The cats missed you.”

“The cats miss anyone who pets ‘em.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” she agreed. “But I think they miss your petting most.”

Before he could brush that off, she opened the door, and he was immediately greeted by loud, discordant meows. A huge orange tabby came trundling out the door, sounding for all the world like someone was hitting an accordion with some bagpipes. 

That was, according to his grandmother, Kumquat’s _pleased_ meows. Callum didn’t think he wanted to know what its _displeased_ ones sounded like. 

“Scoot, Kumquat,” he muttered, shuffling his feet so he didn’t accidentally kick the cat. As soon as he was in the door, it darted off to the nearest armchair and let out some more plaintive meows, clearly expecting him to sit so he could give it his full attention. 

Before he could even consider following, he nearly tripped over another cat weaving between his ankles, one whose meow was much more polite. It suited a tuxedo cat, Callum supposed. The name _Eel_ didn’t, but there was only so much to be done about that. 

“Where’s Bromley?”

His grandmother continued toward the guest bedroom. “I’m sure she’ll make herself known sooner or later.” 

Probably hiding on top of the cabinets, then. Maybe in a closet. Definitely ready and waiting to pounce on the first one who came too close. 

_Keeps me on my toes,_ his grandmother told him once. _Never a dull moment when she’s off scampering around!_

Bromley was also the one of her three cats that most tried to escape into the yard and chase chickens around. Funny to watch, but apparently stressing the birds out like that meant they wouldn’t lay eggs or something. Yes, Callum liked watching Bromley mess with them. He liked a good breakfast more. 

Once he had tossed his bag on the bed, his grandmother turned to him with hands on her hips. “We’ve got plenty of daylight left. Mind helping me out in the garden for a tick?”

The day passed rather fast at that point. Weeding was kind of boring, but he did like helping out his grandmother. She kept asking little questions about how he was spending his time these days, and he told her as much as he could without getting into the spooky side of things. By the end of it, he was pretty sure she thought the Institute was somewhere he went for tutoring, but that seemed harmless to him. She didn’t need to know about the supernatural stuff — _especially_ not when he didn’t have any proof save a plaster-covered mark on his hand that could easily be dismissed as ink. 

As she always did on the first nights of his visits, his grandmother presented them both with big bowls of clam chowder for dinner, which Callum tore into without delay. That alongside dense, homemade bread left him sleepy with how full he was.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who could eat as much of that as you,” she remarked with clear humor as she gathered their dishes. It was only a couple of steps to the sink from her table — his grandmother’s house wasn’t exactly sprawling. It never felt cramped, either. 

Callum pillowed his head on his folded arms as he hummed in agreement. These days he always felt a little bit hungry, but that was long gone. For now.

Evening left his grandmother settled in the living room to crochet what looked like a pillow cover. Callum stopped in his room to grab something, but hesitated at the end of the hall. He could ask now, but she was busy. He could ask later, maybe, or maybe not at all, because it was a stupid idea anyway, and it was stupid of Jon to suggest it and it was stupid for Callum agree and it was all just _stupid—_

“Do you need something, honey?”

No going back now. 

“Um.” Callum shuffled his feet before creeping slowly forward with that same damn book clutched in his hands. “I don’t— I don’t like reading very much.” 

She smiled a little. “That’s news to me.” He scowled, but she was right — it wasn’t like he made a secret of it. 

“But, um… One of the guys at the Institute, Jon, he… he said that it might be easier if stuff was— was read _to_ me…?” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “So, would it be okay if, um…”

When he trailed off, his grandmother finished for him. “If I read your book to you?” Lip between his teeth, he nodded, and her smile grew. “I would love to read it. Come on, come sit.” 

He was settled on the old, overstuffed couch by his grandmother’s armchair for all of thirty seconds when Kumquat made its presence _very_ known by slouching over to sprawl across Callum’s lap, purring like a rusty motor. When he shifted his legs, claws dug in through his sleep pants as if Kumquat was daring him to get up. 

Sat on a bookshelf across the room, Eel watched with the closest thing to disdain that Callum had ever seen on a cat. When a grey paw reached down from the shelf above with aching slowness before rearing back and popping Eel right on the nose, he burst out laughing. His grandmother glanced up from where she was adjusting her reading glasses, then joined with her own laughter as Eel shot out of the room like a bullet.

“Lovely of Bromley to say hello.”

“I don’t think Eel agrees.” He wondered what the trio would make of Professor Killer.

“Well, I suppose the two of them will just have to work it out like adults, won’t they?” His grandmother flipped through the book. “What chapter are you on?” 

“Ten, I think.” 

“Ten,” she repeated under her breath as she flipped through pages. “Ten, ten, ten… Ah, here we—” The spoken train of thought halted. “Does this _honestly_ say—” Before Callum could ask, she shook her head and began to read. With the way she paused every so often, he could tell she was rephrasing some things or using different words, but he didn’t really care. It wasn’t like he’d paid very close attention to the first nine chapters. 

He didn’t get most of the stuff about the parents, still, or why Wendy got so fussy about it. Who cared if there was a pretend mother and father around? All the Lost Boys seemed to be doing just fine without either. Still, the book repeating throughout the chapter that something was coming, something Peter and the rest weren’t prepared for, managed to catch his interest for the first time since he’d skimmed the fight between Peter and Captain Hook. 

_“But tonight he remained on his stool,”_ his grandmother read. _“And we shall see what happened.”_ She glanced up. “Do you want to keep going?”

Mouth scrunched to one side, Callum shook his head. Catching his interest wasn’t the same as holding it. The last bit at the end, where Peter was described leaving the room or covering his ears to block out Wendy’s story, reminded him strangely of when he’d gone to Basira’s office so long ago to find her bent over a curled-up Danny. Still, he’d helped then, so it was fine. He didn’t get why the rest never tried to help Peter in the same way. 

Callum was starting to think that everyone in _Peter Pan_ was kind of a jerk. 

After scanning the basket at her feet, his grandmother found a scrap of yarn to use as a bookmark without acknowledging the clear signs of once dog-eared pages, then held the book his way. “We can read more before bed tomorrow, then. Does that sound alright?” 

“Mhm.” He leaned over to take it as best as he could with Kumquat still commandeering his lap. “Can we go to the lighthouse sometime?”

“Callum.” Her face was stern. “I don’t technically even own the property, and you want us to just waltz in like it’s still in the family?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’m disappointed in you.” The crochet hook returned to her hand. “It took you an entire _day_ to ask.”

There were two lighthouses in Dover, though neither were in use — not for a hundred years or something. The upper South Foreland Lighthouse was National Trust property, and had been for ages. It was a tourist spot now, even though there was no vehicle path. People had to walk or bike if they wanted to visit.

The lower lighthouse was privately owned, though Callum didn’t know by who. Whoever it was, they didn’t visit, which meant his grandmother was free to stop by and walk around, breathe in the salty air, all that. _To clear my head,_ she always said, _and say hello to the ghosts._ Technically trespassing, but it wasn’t like the owners would find out.

Her own grandfather had lived in the cottage that used to be attached to the place before it was torn down. An automated lighthouse didn’t need a live-in keeper, and a decommissioned one didn’t need any keeper at all. 

“It might not need a keeper,” his grandmother told him as she tucked some packed lunches for the both of them in her bike’s basket the following morning. “But it’s part of the family.” 

Callum never quite understood what she meant by that, but he liked going all the same. The ocean breeze was cold in a way so different from shadows it made him grin, hair flying wildly. His grandmother’s was no better — both her thick grey braids were a complete mess by the time they arrived. The bike she kept for him in her shed was an old, rusty thing, but it worked just fine for this. 

They settled to eat their sandwiches on some flat stones closer to the water. Callum could hear it crashing against the rocks below. It wasn’t exactly the White Cliffs here, but it wasn’t St. Margaret’s Bay, either: this stretch was far more stone than it was sand. They ate, and shooed off the birds who thought they might be able to swipe a crisp, and talked as best as they could over the water relentlessly pounding away. The lower lighthouse was at risk of erosion, Callum had heard his mother say while on the phone with his grandmother. It didn’t make sense to linger by a place that would eventually fall into the sea. 

His grandmother never argued, but she didn’t budge either. It was a part of their family, _even if Dennis might disagree,_ he caught her add once. There wasn’t much his stepfather agreed with his grandmother on, far as he could tell. It was why he rarely thought family gatherings were worth the headache. 

Callum wasn’t sure he was missing out on _that_ much, not from the look on Nicholas’ face when he told stories about his own stupidly-big family all cramming into one house for a day, but _not that much_ wasn’t _none._ His grandmother did her best to help him catch up. 

“Cora turned four, did you know?”

Cora, who was… someone. “Um…”

She took some mercy on him. “Finley’s daughter. Here, let me just…” 

Finley, he recognized. Some cousin of his. He leaned over with mild interest as his grandmother flipped through a few texts before she landed on a photo. In it, a person with jaw-length brown hair held a little girl sporting twin pigtails. She stared wide-eyed at the camera like she was still deciding whether to smile or burst into tears. 

“Huh.”

“I can’t believe how big she is. Did your mother tell you they moved to Dartford recently?”

“Uh-uh.” Why his grandmother thought she _did_ was beyond him. 

“Well, Finley said she—” Her voice cut out, and her eyes shut. “They. They, they, they.”

Callum blinked. “What?”

“Finley told me _they_ don’t want people to use _she_ anymore, but I keep getting it all knackered.” She sighed as she tucked a crumpled napkin back into her brown paper bag. “I’ve got some practicing to do, but I _will_ get it sorted.” With a bent finger, she lightly checked Callum under the chin and shot him a bracing smile. “I’ve spoken English my whole life; I’m not going to let it get the better of me now.” 

The clear stubbornness in her eyes made him want to laugh. It must run in the family. 

Once they cleaned up, his grandmother stopped by the lighthouse to rest a hand against it. She didn’t say anything as she did so, just traced up and down the salt-crusted stone for a long moment. 

No, his grandmother would not be leaving her home any time soon. 

That night, they read the next chapter of _Peter Pan_ — this one full of talk of absent children and whether their mothers missed them. Callum didn’t like it very much. Kumquat rumbling away in his lap helped. 

It was a couple days later when his grandmother straightened in the middle of scattering feed for the chickens. “I don’t know how I forgot to ask before now, but you did get my birthday present in the mail, didn’t you?”

“No, not yet.” 

“I swear, if the Post lost it…” She shook her head, scattering more kernels on the ground as each of the chickens pecked away. “I should have just waited until you came to visit.”

Dragging furrows in the dirt with a stick, Callum shrugged. “It’ll show up sometime.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” After brushing her hands off on her long skirt, his grandmother held out a hand to him. “Come on, I could use some help with those gingersnaps I promised Duncan.” 

Making cookies? Easy. Stealing cookie dough without taking so much his grandmother noticed? Much trickier. 

As they rolled balls of dough between their hands and laid them out on the tray, she asked, “So, thirteen… What was your wish, this year?” 

Callum wrinkled his nose at her. “You’re not supposed to tell anyone.”

“We’ll keep it between you and me, then,” she replied with a wink. 

He set his finished ball down, then grabbed another bit of dough. “Wished for, um… a blank slate, I guess.”

“You did?”

“Mhm.” Juno still hid from him. Callum also hadn’t forgotten the way his friends looked at him sometimes when he had first joined their group, like they were waiting for him to do something mean. They didn’t, anymore. He still remembered it. 

Did _they_ remember? How much had he done that _he_ didn’t remember, but that stuck in the heads of whoever else was there?

Danny had told him that apologies didn’t fix everything. Callum just wished he knew what he was supposed to do without the chance to give one at all. 

“That’s a very old wish for a boy your age.” 

He shrugged as he set down the next ball, unsure what else to say. His grandmother reached out as if to brush a hand through his hair. Halfway there, she paused. 

“…I’m assuming you _didn’t_ wish for cookie dough in your hair alongside that.”

Callum groaned and slumped in his chair, all dramatic. “I _knew_ I was forgetting something.” Her laugh sounded as surprised as it did pleased. 

Between chickens and cats and gingersnap cookies, the week flew by, and Callum felt like he’d only just arrived when the day came for him to pack up and leave again. At least he’d gotten to go to the lighthouse one last time earlier that day. 

As he shrugged his backpack over his shoulders, Eel twined between his legs again, meowing insistently the whole time. He leaned over to scoop it up and give it a few more scratches behind the ears. Kumquat let out what sounded more like a wail than a meow from where it was hunkered on the couch, but from the past week alone, Callum knew that was normal. Weird cat. 

Bromley reached out to pop the top of his head with a paw as he passed a cupboard in the sitting room. When he stopped to shoot it with a sour look, it blinked wide yellow eyes at him and purred so loud it rivaled Kumquat’s yowling. _Weirder_ cat. At least Eel was normal, even with a name like _Eel._

Someone new drove them to the bus stop this time, a woman his grandmother greeted as Sadie. They chatted back and forth as Callum watched farmland pass through the window and wondered who might read _Peter Pan_ to him at home. 

Sadie waited in the car as Callum’s grandmother walked with him to the bus stop. He was already dreading the long ride between Dover and London, especially when a single glance around at the other folks waiting made it painfully clear that there would be no interesting people on the return trip, either. 

Still, he put that internal complaint aside to accept one last hug from his grandmother. She was a surprisingly strong woman for her age, but that was no surprise with how comfortable she was biking back and forth between the lighthouse and home so frequently. 

“I love you very much, Callum.”

“Love you too, gran.” Mumbled, only because he knew she wasn’t going to release him until he returned the sentiment. 

“Travel safe.” She planted a kiss on his forehead, then brushed his hair back just like she did the day he arrived. Her smile was wide and warm. “And on the trip home, you think about how to make that birthday wish come true.”

* * *

  
  
  


There was no one waiting at the station when he made the trip to the Institute for the first time after his return. Made sense, since Callum hadn’t been very specific about what time he’d get back. It wasn’t the end of the world. 

Besides, he wasn’t alone for very long — halfway there, he almost ran right into a familiar face. 

“Oh— Goodness, Callum, I didn’t see you there.”

He readjusted his backpack. “Hi, Jan.”

Jan looked him over in clear surprise as he adjusted that same red scarf. It was a week into _April,_ did he really need that? Must be some weird fashion thing. Jan was a weird guy. It made sense. 

Right. Weird. Weird in a way that made the rest of the people at the Institute get their own sort of weird. They had conversations about it, but even thinking hard, the only reasons Callum could call to mind were that Jan talked to him sometimes and that he was _old,_ according to Tim. 

It didn’t amount to much in Callum’s eyes, but he knew Danny wouldn’t walk him back and forth to the Institute and back unless he thought he had a reason. Danny, who was pragmatic to a point. Realist until he wasn’t. 

_G-d,_ this was stupid. He didn’t care about Jan, anyway, even if getting out of London sounded— 

Didn’t matter.

“I haven’t seen you around lately. Did the rest at the Institute drive you off _already?”_ If Jan could see Callum’s uncertainty, he didn’t show it. “I rather thought it would take longer than that, but I suppose I was giving them a bit too much credit.”

“I was just visiting my gran for a bit.” 

“Ah, that explains it.”

Arms crossed, Callum narrowed his eyes. “Were you looking for me or something?”

“The interim head of the Institute is the sociable sort, so he and I catch up as much as we can when we’re in the area. Considering how much we both travel, it’s not often our paths cross. I never saw you around on any of my visits.” 

“Oh.” Peter hadn’t sounded sociable from the stories the rest told, but Callum imagined it was different when it came to _friends_ as opposed to coworkers.

Jan straightened as if something had just occurred to him. “Speaking of travel — the reason I kept an eye out when visiting Peter was to ask if you’d thought more about my offer.” Humor lightened his voice as he added, “I don’t think those in the archives have grown more fond of the Dark in your absence.”

So? It wasn’t like _Callum_ was too fond of it, either. “Yeah. M’not going.” 

Jan didn’t reply immediately, instead taking a moment to straighten his cuffs with a slow nod. “I see.” His hands crossed in front of him. “I’m not going to lie to you, Callum: I’m a bit disappointed. I do understand, though. Going means leaving things behind, and I know not everyone is ready for that sort of change at your age.” 

What, Calllum was _immature_ now because he didn’t want to cut and run? If that’s what Jan did at Callum’s age, like he said, it made sense he’d think so. Didn’t make Callum eager to follow suit. 

Still, he felt a little bad. “Sorry.” 

“Yes, well,” Jan said with a thin smile. “I have one more thing in London I need to take care of before moving on, so I’ll be here through the next week. If you change your mind, I’ll be at the DoubleTree hotel near the Docklands.”

Docklands. Not too far from where Callum lived in Newham — not that it would matter. 

“I always stay somewhere I can watch the water.” Straightening his scarf, Jan turned his head towards where Callum knew the Thames ran through the heart of the city as if he could see right through the buildings between it and them. “But nothing can outmatch the way sunlight catches on the sea, or the sight of great swathes of ice breaking free of glaciers.” 

He paused then, as if he wanted to go on and on but thought better of it. His attention left the distant river, and he locked eyes with Callum. “I still believe you and I are the same sort, whether you choose to take my offer or not. All I ask is that you know _why_ you’re choosing what you do.” 

Something about Jan felt like it burned away the cold in Callum. It wasn’t completely gone, no, but banked. He didn’t know why. 

“You have a chance to go out in the world and take what’s yours, and discard anything you wish to discard. Don’t let a need to please the others keep you from blazing your own trail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: offscreen physical abuse, internalized ableism, a brief instance of accidental and immediately corrected misgendering, grooming (of the same protégé angle as always)
> 
> want to learn more about jon's dadima, ms miriam sims, and that little nod to the vast jon made? check out [[two ships passing!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22189123/chapters/52974727)]
> 
> on the horizon: the storm, at last, breaks


	10. Ara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[Greek]_ The altar on which the gods formed an alliance through sacrificing the beast Therium before going to war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so remember how the tags say that this fic is rated the way it is because, even though we start in T rating territory, we eventually shift gears into M for canon-typical dark themes/etc? buckle your seatbelt for this one gang because from this point forward **we do not slow down <3**
> 
> like in hlm ch7, i do want to give a more direct heads up about onscreen parental abuse in this chapter (in this case, brief physical abuse rather than neglect/homophobia). also like then, the scene is skippable -- **if you need to skip that part, stop at the line "Every minute of silence between" and ctrl+f search the line "There wasn’t any hiding his scrapes" to jump to after.** the CWs below are also split between the skippable scene and the rest of the chapter!
> 
> and, on a last note, [[another aesthetic board blast from the past from @silviaelric on tumblr, this time for road to damascus!!](https://titanfalling.tumblr.com/post/641770978885746688/tma-fanfics-road-to-damascus-by)]
> 
> suggested listening: come away to the water by maroon 5  
> [[playlist so far](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtbsflE5_346VAfjhfHlK2PTnEEFj8KNY)]

The beginning of the end came bright. Warm. Nothing more than an afternoon out walking in Chelsea. Daisy needed to stretch long-atrophied muscles, apparently, and Callum was never one to let a chance for time outside pass him by. It came as no surprise when both Basira and Danny tagged along. 

Daisy’s state meant she couldn’t walk far, even borrowing Jon’s spare cane, but that was alright. Chelsea had plenty in the way of gardens and shops — even if everything in those shops cost what may as well have been a million pounds. 

“So, how many vampires have you killed?” 

Daisy let out a short, breathless huff with her brows raised. “Five.”

“Woah.” 

They weren’t alone on these streets, but Callum knew by now that passersby didn’t notice or care about conversations like this. Far as any of them knew, their group was talking about a book or something. Anyone who might be lingering cut that right out as soon as Danny shot them a smile. 

“Was it with a stake?” A while ago, Danny had said he got rid of one as far as making it leave him alone, but he didn’t kill the thing — Callum couldn’t help some curiosity. “Or did you use like, holy water?”

“Uh, neither.” Daisy’s breath was a little short, but she kept on. Basira stuck fairly close to the side opposite Daisy’s secondhand cane. “Just a lighter.” 

“Seriously?”

“Five for five. They go up like matchsticks.” 

“Cool.”

Before Daisy could say more, she stumbled. Basira reached out to help steady her, but stilled at Daisy’s blunted glare as she got her feet under herself on her own. 

Callum took his next steps backwards to face Daisy as he asked, “Have you fought any other cool monsters?” The question made Danny look askance at her, but Callum couldn’t read his face otherwise. 

“Some. It’s…” Her breath caught in her chest a little. “It’s not too exciting. Took nine years to get five vampires, so.” 

It made sense. Kind of disappointing, though. “Oh.”

“Rest is technically under a nondisclosure, but I don’t… don’t think anyone’s gonna follow up.”

“Yeah,” Basira agreed from her side, but she didn’t sound very focused on the conversation. Instead, she was watching Daisy flex and shake her hands out one at a time. “Are you—”

“I’m _fine.”_

“Right.” 

Well into April, now. Callum hadn’t bothered with his coat. Daisy’s fingers looked shaky, but exhaustion explained that better than cold did, even with the breeze. He nearly moved the conversation to Basira, since she and Daisy used to be partners in the same job. Even after the week away, though, there was no forgetting her face when she said saving Callum was her one good. He didn’t think that would make for eager storytelling. 

“Is there _anything_ as cool as the vampires?” he prodded at last, still towards Daisy.

“Here and there, but even with those — most monsters look human.” 

“Very deep,” Danny quipped from the side. When Daisy swiped her cane to knock him in the leg, he stepped around it with an ease that made Callum snicker.

After some thought, Daisy finally said, “There was one case in Kensington where…” She trailed off with a grimace and massaged her sternum with the heel of her free hand. Callum could practically hear Basira resisting the urge to ask if she was alright. When Daisy’s grimace only worsened, that resistance crumbled in a matter of moments. 

“Daisy?”

She didn’t reply, only swallowed hard. Her breath grew heavier and heavier until her chest was heaving. 

Alarmed, Basira leaned to try and get her attention, hands outstretched. “Daisy, what is it? What’s wrong?” 

Heavy breath turned to ragged panting undercut with a growl. Daisy staggered as her body jerked without any clear control. Her head whipped from side to side as her fingers curled into claws. Even with the passing crowd, the clatter of her cane against the pavement was deafening.

In an instant, Danny put himself between her and Callum. “Daisy, talk to us. What’s—”

Callum’s head was blank beyond— not _fear,_ of course, but absolute confusion. Daisy snarled at empty air and Basira looked just this side of panicked and Danny kept at the ready like he thought she might pounce on someone and passersby all around were starting to notice and clump and stare and he didn’t _understand._

Another stagger sent Daisy careening to the side. Those awful, full-body convulsions yanked her arms in close, then sent one slashing out again. Before Callum even blinked, Danny had her in the same restraining grip he got Melanie in when she went after Jon with her knife. Callum felt locked to the ground as he watched Daisy thrash.

The stony, resolute look Danny had before broke as his face drew, though his hold never wavered. “She— she’s freezing cold, I—”

Basira whirled on her heel and pointed at one of their bystanders. “Call an ambulance, _now.”_ After a second wasted on blank staring, they began to rifle through their pockets in clumsy, frantic motions. 

When Daisy’s spasms started to weaken, Callum didn’t think it was a good thing. Danny lowered her slowly to the ground. Basira had already fallen to one knee, and scanned her in clear desperation. 

“She— _shit,_ she’s not breathing—” 

Methodically, Basira started chest compressions, then tilted Daisy’s head back to breathe into her mouth. When she pulled away for another round of compressions, Callum could see that Daisy’s lips were blue. 

_“Danny!”_

Danny snapped up just in time to see Tim push his way through the crowd. “What— Did you—”

No mistaking the grim expression on Tim’s face. “I got pulled here, but I thought it—”

Basira cut him off with a stone-solid, “Not happening,” without once looking up from her work. Callum had never felt so useless in his life. 

When Tim knelt next to Basira and held Daisy’s head in effort to keep her airway open, it looked rote. Going through the motions without anything like hope to fuel it. Danny kept the crowd back and gave the others some space. 

The whole time, Callum couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching this on the telly. Any second now, Daisy would gasp and her eyes would fly open. Color would return to her face. Any second now, Basira would sit back with a sigh of relief. There’d be a jump cut to some hospital bed where she’d chide Daisy for scaring her, and that would be that. 

He scanned the space around them as if he might see the cameras and microphones that would reveal how untrue all this was. No way it was happening, not now, not to them. Not a chance. _Something_ here would make it all make sense. It had to. 

When Callum’s eyes caught on a familiar red scarf, every thought fled, and all his questions fell into empty, churning, endless black.

* * *

Callum was a walking ball of secrets, he knew that. For all his efforts, he couldn’t make the fresh weight in his chest be one of them.

Felix asked what was wrong. Callum couldn’t tell him this, and so said nothing. 

Jamal let him hold Terrence and said it helped when he didn’t have words. Callum wasn’t sure what a stuffed frog was supposed to fix.

Nicholas offered his notes to copy from the classes that had passed by in a haze. Callum took him up on that, but couldn't muster the _thank you_ it deserved. 

Lexie gave him a hug, and her heavier build meant it was soft and warm. Callum pulled away before he could make it go cold. 

Aminah sat next to him at recess. Callum didn’t talk, and she didn’t ask him to. They kept silent. 

When the bell rang, she held out her hand to tug him to his feet. He didn’t take it.

* * *

The archives were as silent as Callum’s first day there, with half their number gone and the other half with no interest in chatting. Somehow, even with all of them scattered around, even in the basement, the air felt cold. 

Melanie set a cup of tea in front of Basira, who didn’t react. The bags under her eyes were darker than ever. 

As Melanie sat, she cut a glance at Callum. “Is it… _safe_ for him to be here?”

“I would— I would rather have everyone where I can see them.” Jon had wandered from his office to between the shelves and back more times than Callum could count since showing up after school. Callum wasn’t sure if his restlessness was purely nerves, or if part of it was the missing member of their group. No doubt that Martin would be much harder to drag down to the basement this time. “And I don’t think distance is going to be of much help.”

No one argued. The air went as still as if words had never broken it at all. 

After what felt like an hour of fiddling with the zipper on his backpack, Callum managed to voice the question that had stuck itself in the back of his throat since the day before. Even getting a hug from his mother hadn’t dislodged the weight of it. She’d brushed his hair back and asked if he was alright in the same way she always did. Callum’s shrug and her acceptance without pushing further kept to their routine.

“What did it?” Every word tasted like lead. “Killed her, I mean.” 

No surprise that Tim was the one who answered, not when his business with the End meant being there for people’s last moments. It was why he’d shown up when he did in the first place. “Her blood froze inside her body. It locked up her muscles, so she couldn’t breathe. Her heart couldn’t beat.” Basira didn’t flinch. Callum wondered if she heard them at all. 

“…How?”

Tim shrugged with a helpless look. “We don’t know.” Callum wondered if he remembered the exact shade of blue Daisy’s face went, too. 

Pillowing his head on his folded arms didn’t make the sound of that harsh, rasping breath stop ringing in his ears, but Callum knew better than to expect it to. Some nights, he could still hear chanting echo in an impossible cathedral in the moments before falling asleep. More, lately. Maybe it should have scared him. Maybe it did, and he just didn’t know it. 

“…What do we do, now?”

No one answered Melanie, but every eye in the room turned to Basira. Callum couldn’t tell if she felt them. He never knew that emptiness could fill a room quite so thickly — fit to burst, now.

Tim took the plunge. “Basira?” Nothing. He persisted. “Hey, Basira?”

Whether it was the repetition or Tim joining her at her desk, it did the trick. Basira’s gaze rose enough to settle somewhere in the vicinity of the cup full of pens on her desk.

“Do you know if Daisy wanted anything specific done with her body when she died?” Maybe it was Tim’s tie to the End that stripped away any words of comfort. Maybe it was that Basira would never want them.

His question hung in the air for a long while. The rest of them waited with a helpless sort of patience. 

“Cremation.”

Knee bouncing, Danny asked, “…Is that even _possible?”_ Basira said nothing, but the way her eyes snapped to him demanded that he explain just as much. “I mean, this ice isn’t _natural,_ and it filled her whole body. Would a normal fire be able to melt that?”

Jon picked at already-ragged cuticles. “Longevity might not be a trait of the ice used here even if it’s supernatural; we may as well try.”

“And I’m sure figuring out the logistics of that will be a treat,” Tim muttered. 

“All else fails, we can look in artifact storage for things related to fire or heat to account for the ice’s supernatural element. I think there’s—”

“No,” Basira interrupted before Jon could finish. “She wouldn’t want anything from there. If normal cremation doesn’t work, I’ll… I’ll figure something else out.” The normal solidity of her voice hadn’t gone anywhere, but it was brittle now. 

Silence swelled, like ink or black water or nothing at all. 

They waited. For what, Callum didn’t know. He was pretty sure that it wasn’t for Rosie, but she showed up regardless — first as a gentle rap of knuckles against the archives doorframe, then a head poked inside. The usual calm and warmth on her face vanished in moments as she took in the scene. 

“Is… this a bad time?” 

Callum waved, and Tim welcomed her with a nod. “Bad time for what?”

Stepping further into the room revealed the object in her other hand — a bouquet made entirely of cone-shaped collections of small purple flowers. The lot of them were tied together with ribbons, one yellow and one burgundy. 

“This just arrived with the rest of the mail, and it’s addressed to Basira.” She made an attempt at cheer. “Do you have a secret admirer?” 

Basira’s responding silence sent a crack through her efforts. Rather than help, Tim cutting in to say, “Something like that,” cracked it more. 

In an act of mercy, Melane came to collect. “Who delivered it?”

“Just— Just Rhys, same as always.” Rosie’s now-free hands wrung together. 

“Right. Thanks, Rosie.” 

Rosie needed no more excuses to get out of there — a quick, “Have a good rest of your day,” and she escaped. 

Melanie’s sheer caution made it seem like she was handling a bomb rather than a bunch of flowers. They barely made a sound when set on the corner of Basira’s desk. Basira didn’t move beyond another silent snap of her eyes, this time narrowed in on the small white card tucked between stems. 

No one moved. Mines only detonated when touched, after all. 

Melanie’s patience broke first. She leaned over to tug it free, but Basira stopped her in her tracks with a raised hand. Her stare never wavered.

Basira’s own patience was the next to go. In a flash, she snatched it without any mind to damaged petals. Even if he gave it his best effort, Callum knew he would never be able to figure out just what emotions swirled in her head as she scanned whatever was written there. 

Her eyes drifted back to the pencil cup. After a long moment with no sign of Basira passing the note off to anyone else, Melanie reached out for it again, this time with plenty of caution. Basira didn’t stop her. 

The clear anger on Melanie’s face as she read was like none Callum had ever seen from her. She lifted it to show the rest of them. 

  
  
  


_“Ms. Basira Hussain,”_ Danny read under his breath to Callum. There was no need to read the other side aloud when Melanie flipped it, not when every single one of them knew what it would say.

Basira kept very, very still. Stillness, Callum knew, could be just as much of a warning sign as lashing out. 

Before Danny could say whatever was on his mind when he turned to Callum, something near the far wall caught his attention.

“Jon?”

Like Basira, Jon was fixated on the bouquet. Must have been from the start if his silence this whole time was anything to go by. The called name managed to get his attention.

“I— I’m sorry, those flowers are just…”

“Just what?” Tim cocked his head. “Do you know what they are?”

“The proper name is _aconitum,_ but like many other plants, it has no shortage of nicknames. Monkshood, queen of poisons.” Jon’s eyes darted around the room as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to look at _anything but_ or _nothing but_ Basira. “Or, to some… wolfsbane.” 

All the slashing and growling and thrashing meant Callum had no trouble picturing Daisy as a wolf. It fit her as much as colors _didn’t_ fit _his._

Melanie glanced up from her phone. “It, um… It means, _be cautious.”_

A split-second’s worth of fury flashed across Basira’s face, so intense it knocked the wind out of Callum. She wasted no time in shoving herself back from her desk, and wasted no words as she made a warpath for the archives door. The rest knew better than to try and stop her. 

By the time she was a couple paces down the hall, Tim had gotten to his feet. “I’ll stick with her so she doesn’t bulldoze every florist in London. Text if anything new happens.” After a thumbs up from Danny, he too was gone. 

Two less people made the silence feel that much thicker, but Danny breached it anyway. “I haven’t gotten the chance to say this, but I’m sorry you had to see what happened to Daisy. I should have been paying more attention. Kids your age shouldn’t have to see that kind of thing.”

Callum nearly worked up the energy for a scoff. “Not like she’s the first person I saw die.”

“I know she isn’t the first. That’s why you especially shouldn’t have, this time — you don’t need to carry another one.” Basira’s eye bags might have been ridiculously dark, but Danny’s weren’t much better. “I can’t go back and fix it, but I _can_ promise that we’re gonna do whatever it takes to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Okay.” Callum wasn’t sure it bothered him that much anymore. If this was the last time, though, he wouldn’t be sorry about that.

Promise made, Danny lifted one arm, and Callum didn’t hesitate in going in for his offered hug. Had to keep it short, though — he didn’t want to make Danny cold any more than he did Lexie. 

During their exchange, Jon had returned to his office, but it was mere moments before another person arrived to fill his place.

“Did something happen with Basira? She looked like hell.” Georgie gestured back towards the hall, then winced and amended her question. “Something new, I mean.”

Melanie sat up where she was curled in her chair. “She— Is something wrong?”

“You weren’t answering your texts when I said I was here,” explained Georgie as she raised her phone a little. “So I thought I should just come in.” 

After a moment of blank processing, Melanie stood in a rush and started to gather her things. “Sorry, I— Sorry. Right.”

“A delivery came for Basira,” Danny told her. “Flowers. Based on the note, it’s from the one who killed Daisy.” 

Georgie hissed through her teeth. “Jesus. Was it the… bell person?”

“Yeah.” 

“G-d…” When Melanie joined her by the door, Georgie accepted the bag passed her way with practiced ease and slung it over one shoulder. “I might not have been Daisy’s biggest fan, but that’s messed up.” 

“Agreed on all counts,” Danny said as he returned to his laptop. 

Callum shifted in his chair. “Why didn’t you like her?”

“If killing another guy in front of Jon in the middle of the woods didn’t do it, nearly killing _him_ after would do the trick. _And_ making him help her hide the body.” Lips pursed, Georgie held the door open for Melanie. “There’s plenty more she’s done, I’m sure, but that’s what I know.” 

“Oh.” 

“I know we’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but seeing how Jon looked after all that… I can’t really say I care that much.” 

Melanie brushed her fingers against Georgie’s wrist. She looked tired. “Come on.” 

“Right.” The quiet sort of anger left her face to make way for plain concern as Georgie studied the both of them one last time. “Stay safe, yeah?” 

“You too,” Danny replied. 

Quiet settled in, until a creak from the office door made Callum jump. Jon was thoughtful past exhaustion just as clear as Melanie’s. 

“I understand why she feels that way. Nor would I begrudge you feeling the same,” he said with a nod to Danny. Even with nothing that could possibly drown him out, Callum had to strain to hear him. “But I… I thought I could finally save someone.”

Callum didn’t know what to say to that. Danny wasn’t any better. When Jon’s eyes dropped to his cane, Callum could only wonder what happened to the spare. His smile was as frayed as the others’, with plenty of bitterness alongside. 

“Wishful thinking, I suppose.”

Danny leaned forward on his desk. “You _have_ saved people. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“I’m not sure how much credit I can take for that.” He still didn’t look up. “Your initial escape, I suppose, but Tim is the one who ensured you lived past the Unknowing, and saved himself in the process. It was _your_ plan that freed Melanie from the Slaughter.”

“And you helped with all of those. None of us are a monolith, Jon.” 

Jon’s face didn’t change. Whether or not it would help, Callum could try this.

“You’re the one who told Basira and the rest to bring a lot of torches when they got me.” He barely remembered the bits between when that shadow started to creep up his legs and when gunshots deafened him, but he knew that, in split-second flashes, he caught thin beams through the void. It was the first time in those three days that he’d felt something like hope. “They wouldn’t have made it without you, I bet.” 

What Jon thought about that, Callum couldn’t tell. His soft, “Thank you,” revealed nothing, and his office door clicked shut again only a second after. 

Danny returned to his computer, but hesitated with his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “He does appreciate it, you know.”

“Yeah.” Callum supposed he did. It wasn’t like Callum himself had words for much today, so he couldn’t be too bothered. 

“…How are _you_ doing?” 

Head returned to its place resting on his folded arms, Callum shrugged. “How am I _supposed_ to be doing?”

“You’re not _supposed_ to be doing anything.” 

“I don’t know. Fine, I guess.”

“You don’t have to be fine.” 

Callum knew that well enough. It wasn’t the first time Danny had told him so, after all. What he _didn’t_ know was what he was meant to dig up under the _fine._ Danny clearly expected there to be more. Maybe there was. Maybe Callum just couldn’t see it. He wasn’t that eager to try. 

Danny let him be. Callum tried his hardest to feel something about that, too.

* * *

“Mr. and Mrs. Brodie, Mr. and Mrs. Leone, thank you all for being here.”

Callum didn’t say a word, slouched deep in his chair. Neither did Tristan.

“We’re glad to come in,” Callum’s mother replied in some effort to fill their silence. Headmaster Walsh nodded, but his face remained stern. 

“The reason I called you is due to a fight that broke out between your sons during their break before lunch.”

However bad Callum’s knuckles still smarted, he bet Tristan’s nose felt worse. The teacher who pulled him off couldn’t take that away from him.

“Normally, this would result in a phone call and detention for both parties, but this is not either of their first fights on school property, which I’m sure I don’t need to remind you is unacceptable.”

“Of course.” From the nervous look on his face alone, Callum could believe Mr. Leone was related to Nicholas. He was also as far as could be from the silent, stony wall to Callum’s right. Anger radiated from his stepfather so thickly Callum could taste it. 

It wasn’t enough to make him keep his mouth shut. “Then tell _him_ to stop being rotten to my friends.”

“I didn’t do _nothing—”_

“Yes you _did,_ I heard you, we _all_ heard you—”

_“Boys,”_ the headmaster snapped. “If you aren’t doing that outside, you _certainly_ won’t be in my office.” When the both of them settled, he went on. “I don’t know what the fight was about, and quite frankly, I don’t care. What I _do_ care about is—”

“It’s because he called Jamal something _awful,_ that’s why I hit him!” His mother’s hand on his arm couldn’t put out the fire in his chest. “Isn’t he gonna get in trouble for that?!”

The headmaster’s lips thinned as he folded his hands together. “Callum, do you know what I mean when I say this is a case of, _he-said-she-said?”_

He stayed mute even as his face screwed up. All the _nothing_ since he watched Daisy crumble to the pavement started to burn away into something that strangled. A flash of that burn had struck when he heard Tristan say what he did, all on a wave of fake questions about why he was hanging out with _this lot,_ with the freak and the fat girl and the— 

So, Callum punched him. He wasn’t sorry for it.

When he got no reply, the headmaster went on. “It means that your teachers have told me that the both of you have been getting into rows over any imagined slight you can think of—”

“It wasn’t _imagined!”_

_“Callum.”_

The headmaster continued over both Callum and his stepfather. _“—Which_ makes it difficult to know who the honest one is here.” 

“But he—”

_“Callum!”_

He didn’t have to look at his stepfather to picture the face he was making with crystal clarity. Instead, his head dropped and shoulders hunched up, but the anger in him didn’t go anywhere. It couldn’t, not when Jamal’s face remained just as clear. 

Jamal hadn’t even looked surprised at the name. Hurt, but resigned. That was what pissed off Callum the most. 

“At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter to me who started it. What matters is that this _will not_ happen again.” The headmaster made sure to look at each parent, one after the other. “I don’t want to resort to expulsion, but should it come to that, I will.” 

“That won’t be necessary,” Mr. Leone assured.

“I didn’t do _nothing,”_ Tristan grumbled again as he kicked one leg out to prop his shoe against the front of the headmaster’s desk, then dropped it again when Mrs. Leone swatted his ankle. “Just ‘cause he _said_ I called him retar—”

Callum exploded from his chair and lunged forwards. “Say it again and I’ll beat you up, I _will,_ I—!”

A hand fisted in the back of his shirt kept any of Callum’s strikes from hitting, and Tristan leapt back to get out of arms’ reach. Mrs. Leone tugged him close with wide, accusatory eyes locked on Callum’s mother, who was drawn thin and pale. 

“Callum, please, just—”

“Sit down, _now,_ or you will _regret it.”_

That, more than his mother’s desperate whispering or the headmaster half out of his chair, made everything shudder to a halt. 

Callum sat down. 

His stepfather’s grip moved from where it was twisted in his shirt to lock on the back of his neck. Meant to keep him from exploding again, he guessed. How he could possibly explode when everything in him had just turned into ice, Callum didn’t know. 

That made him think of Daisy. He didn’t want to think about her right now, but then, there were a lot of things he didn’t want to think about. His brain never seemed to care very much. 

“…I won’t include that as its own instance.” The headmaster’s voice barely made it past the ringing in Callum’s ears. “But Callum: keep in mind that I _could.”_

It wasn’t until the hand still on him tightened that he was able to force out a mumbled, “Yessir.” 

The ringing drowned out the rest of the adults’ conversation. Stuff about detentions, in-school suspensions, all of it. Callum couldn’t make himself care, not when he was stuck wondering just how ugly the conversation after this would be. 

At last, he was released. He could feel his mother’s own fingers settle where his stepfather’s hand had been a moment ago as they all stood and made their way from the office. Her touch was cold. Callum wondered dully if she thought it helped. 

Every minute of silence between the headmaster’s office and home signaled loud and clear that it would be that much worse as soon as the door closed behind them. He knew, somewhere, some part of him was scared of what that might mean.

Not scared. Anticipating. It was like watching carbonation build up in a bottle, knowing the lid would have to be cracked sooner or later. He hadn’t opened it yet. Maybe he wouldn’t have to open it at all.

Wishful thinking. He couldn’t even pretend to believe it.

The front door slammed shut, and took the ringing in Callum’s ears right alongside. His stepfather’s arms folded as all his focus narrowed in. Callum felt like a bug pinned to cork and hung on the wall.

“You’ve been going to _Tristan’s_ after school, then, have you?”

Callum’s eyes kept stuck to the floor. There was a stain on the carpet right next to his foot — grape juice. His fault, of course. He shrugged. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” 

The effort he made wasn’t fast enough, he knew that. Knowing it meant the cuff to the side of his head came as no surprise. When Callum at last managed to keep his attention fixed ahead rather than down, he could see his mother off to the side with her arms folded and fingers digging into her sleeves. Waiting.

“Where do you go?”

“Tristan’s.”

“Tell me the truth.” 

“I _am.”_

He half-expected another blow, but his stepfather merely rolled his neck. “You _really_ think I believe that? After your headmaster told us the two of you fight enough for your teachers to notice it, for _months?”_

Callum had nothing to say to that. He didn’t know why he kept to the lie when he knew he was found out, except for that every other thought had fled. This lie was all he had left. Secrets and lies from top to bottom, and still Callum didn’t have anything to placate his stepfather. 

“Tell me the truth, _now.”_

“I— I just walk around, okay?” 

“Stop lying.”

“I’m _not—”_

There was the blow he’d expected before. Nothing after. Even then, he couldn’t stop his eyes from welling up at the shock of it. 

His mother inched forward. “Dennis…”

A single look from his stepfather stopped her in her tracks. Callum went tense as soon as it turned back on him, but his stepfather only shook his head. Disappointment flooded in his eyes.

“Room. Now.” The words were tight, like he was just barely keeping himself from screaming at Callum for the next hour. Callum was plenty familiar with how easy it was for that restraint to snap. “You lost dinner for lying to me, and this weekend you and I are going to go return that bike of yours.”

His head snapped up. He _just_ got it, and now he was losing it before he ever had a chance to make good use of the thing? “Dad—”

“Callum.” The warning in his mother’s voice made the protest die in his throat. Easy to kill it when tears had already cracked it through. 

He gave up, then, and trudged to his room with something ugly and cold and awful clogging up everything in him — his lungs, his guts, his head, everywhere. Despite the closed bedroom door, he could hear his stepfather turn the interrogation on his mother. Loud. No hits. His stepfather didn’t hit his mother like Phillip used to. He was better than Phillip.

As Callum turned over in bed with his arms locked around his head as if it might block out their shouting, he wondered if this was what _better_ was supposed to feel like. 

* * *

There wasn’t any hiding his scrapes when he went to the Institute, but Callum didn’t try. Wasn’t much point in that, at the end of the day.

Rosie asked if he was alright, and he shrugged as he plucked a sweet from the tin. Not a strawberry sort of day. Lemon, but it didn’t last before crunching between his teeth. 

As soon as he stepped in the archives, he got the exact same smile-surprise-concern routine from Danny.

“What happened?”

Callum shrugged as he slung his backpack down by his desk. No sign of Basira or Tim, still. Jon’s office door was shut, but Callum could see light from underneath, and Melanie’s laptop was open on her desk. Usual suspects. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Danny looking him over with a little more scrutiny.

“Did you fall again?”

Callum wondered if he knew what he was asking. Probably did. That didn’t matter, though, not when the answer was unchanged either way. 

“No.” He rustled around in his backpack, more for something to do with his hands than any actual search. “Got in a fight.”

“A fight?” Still concerned, but not the same sort. “Where, at school?” 

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“‘Nother kid was being a dickhead to my friends.”

He stilled for a second when the curse slipped out, but Danny didn’t look ready to reprimand him for it. No, he just seemed kind of amused. 

“Did you win?”

Callum scoffed. “‘Course I won.”

“Oh, pardon me, then.” The humor slipped. “But, um… Maybe in the future, we find you some teenage rebellion that doesn’t come with you getting kicked around, huh?”

The scowl Callum shot Danny did nothing but make Danny raise a brow. 

Callum stuck his tongue out. Danny did it back.

Ugh.

It wasn’t until Callum was a good chunk of the way into a maths worksheet that Melanie returned, though she didn’t acknowledge him beyond a quick wave. Too lost in thought, and in the collection of pages in the folder she carried. He didn’t mind, not when he didn’t have any reason to interrupt. 

Maths was all well and good, up until a handful of word problems. Crap. Callum leaned over and rapped his pencil against Danny’s desk. 

“Hm?” 

“Can, um…” He shifted in his chair. His grandmother had been able to guess what he wanted because of the context, but there were way too many possibilities here as far as what Callum might ask for Danny to fill in the blanks. He’d just have to muscle through. “I’ve got some maths problems that, uh…”

“Hold up,” Danny interrupted with a wince. “I think we’ve proven that I’m not much help in that area, so—”

“No, it’s just— it’s word problems.” Callum wiped his nose, ignoring the twinge it sent through his scraped-up knuckles. “So can you, um… Can you just— read them?”

  
  


“Oh, yeah! That, I can.” No hesitation, no confusion. “Pass it here.” 

Callum dragged his chair over with the worksheet in hand. “It’s um— It’s these.” Three in the row, because his teacher had it out for him or something.

“Sure.” Danny tilted the page where Callum had laid it to face him a little more and began to read. 

By the time he got to the end, Callum had long since given up on following along. He stared, mouth half-open, as Danny reached what he could only assume was the last word. When Danny glanced up and saw his face, his puzzlement lasted only a second before resignation replaced it.

“Let me guess,” he sighed. “None of that was comprehensible.”

“I think you said the word _station_ somewhere. Maybe.” 

Danny rubbed his eyes with a short, tired laugh. “Super. Melanie?” No reply. “Oi, Melanie!” 

“Huh?” A few curls flew free from her messy bun as Melanie jolted to sit upright. “What?”

“You mind reading some maths problems?”

“What, are you crushingly busy?” 

“Crushingly bad at maths,” Danny said with a dry look at the worksheet.

“You’re just _reading_ the things, right?” 

“You’d think.” 

Melanie’s eyes narrowed as the corner of her mouth turned up. “Read it again.” 

“Why?” Even as he asked it, Danny sounded like he already knew the answer.

“How am I supposed to know you’re being _honest,_ here?” Melanie asked loftily with her brows high. _“Maybe_ you’re just trying to pawn off helping Callum on me so you can go back to playing the Sims, or whatever it is you do.”

Danny turned to Callum in supplication. “You heard that it was all nonsense, tell her.”

“I dunno, I wasn’t really paying attention. You should read it again.” Callum shrugged as he tried to keep himself from smiling. “Just to be sure and all.”

Hand to his heart, Danny shook his head. “You’re dogpiling on me now? _Cruel.”_

“Crybaby.” Melanie waved her hand in a clear, _get on with it_ gesture. “Come on, I want to hear how weird this is.”

After one last sigh, Danny forged ahead. However impossible he was to understand the first time, it was even worse now. The dramatic tone he picked up between readings didn’t help. No sign of whatever pieces Callum thought he kind-of, sort-of heard the first time. All nonsense, beginning to end. 

When Danny finished, he looked up at Melanie. Callum could tell he was fighting his own smile past the casual expression.

“Proof enough?”

Melanie spared one more second for bafflement before she traded it in for an analytical look. _“Why?_ I mean, you not being able to _do_ all that anymore is one thing, but reading it, how does—”

“You realize you’re asking the Stranger to make sense, right?”

Rolling her eyes, Melanie gestured at Callum. “Fine, fine. Come on, leave the avatar of Weird Shit to his business.” 

Callum dragged his chair to Melanie’s desk, still laughing under his breath. He couldn’t help studying her for a moment in case she was irritated by the interruption, but all he could see was some lingering attempt to puzzle out whatever she thought she could about the Stranger stuff. Still, it didn’t interrupt her reading, which was all Callum needed. 

With her assistance, it didn’t take long to finish the worksheet — once he had the numbers in the order he needed them, he was fine. Why they had to get buried in a pile of pointless details and names, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter now.

Danny looked up again as Callum tugged his chair back across the room. “All squared away?”

“Golden, no thanks to you,” Melanie called.

“Sorry you had to read three whole maths problems. Heavy is the cross.” 

Before Melanie could voice the retort written all over her face, Jon’s office door opened. He leaned heavily on his cane with no mind to the thin curls falling in his face. 

“Are Tim and Basira back yet?”

Callum watched as the smiles Danny and Melanie had picked up faded away, replaced with the same tired weight that radiated off Jon. He hadn’t realized how light the first two had gotten until that lightness was gone.

Danny shook his head. “Not yet.”

“They’ve been gone this whole time?” asked Callum.

“Yeah. Basira texted back and said she’s fine, but, um…” Melanie’s lips pursed. “I don’t know what her plan is. None of us do.”

“Tim probably does, so hopefully he’ll keep her from doing anything too off-the-walls,” Danny added.

“Why’s he sticking with her?” Callum kicked one foot back and forth under his chair. “Did he like Daisy more than you ‘nd Georgie or something?”

“Uh, no.” No hesitation. “He probably liked her less than I did, since she spent a lot of time gunning for me and Jon. It’s for Basira.”

“Oh.” 

“He gets what she’s going through, I think. Losing someone you were that close to twice-over.”

Melanie had that hesitant look back on her face, which was enough for Callum to get who Danny meant. 

“Sasha?”

“Yeah.” 

Jon’s clear grief managed to double, somehow. It showed just as much in his voice. “If Daisy’s death was only the fifth bell, I shudder to think what might be planned for the last two.” 

“What?” Melanie zeroed in on Jon, and Danny matched her. Callum was just glad to know he wasn’t the only lost one. _“Last two?”_

“…Yes? We’re waiting for seven bells, so…” A couple wide-eyed blinks, then at last Jon seemed to realize what he was saying. “Seven bells, seven— To knock seven bells!”

Danny sat forward in his chair, intent. “Words, Jon.”

“Yes, yes, it— it’s an idiom, it—” Feverish energy sent Jon pacing across the archives, his free hand gesturing rapidly. All his exhaustion vanished. “On a technical level, it refers to the ringing of a bell to mark the passing of a sailor’s shift over the course of four hours, with the eighth marking the end of the shift.” 

“And?” Melanie pressed.

“As an idiom, it’s about— launching an attack, and, and nearly…” Jon’s shoulders dropped as the tension making him buzz like a live wire faded away. “Finishing them off.”

Silence filled the room for a long moment as they processed the new information — it took Jon just as off-guard as the rest of them, after all.

“Right. Right, okay, so…” Danny ran a hand down his face. “I think we can assume the seventh is killing her.” 

“With the spot on the third bell’s note, that would make sense.”

Melanie looped a finger around her necklace. “But what’s the sixth?”

“I… I don’t know.” 

Callum propped his head up on one hand. “Guess Tim was right — must be a pirate or something.”

“Pirate…” Jon’s voice was quiet. Thoughtful. “Yes, I— Yes, right! The— the statement—” He charged off back between the shelves. Unlike last time Callum watched him leave to search them mid-conversation, it looked like he knew exactly where to go. 

Melanie didn’t react to his abrupt exit. “Every other target has been things she cares about personally, right?”

“Her old precinct, her parents’ headstones, her flat, the Institute, Daisy,” Danny listed as he counted on his fingers.

“So what the hell would take precedence over _Daisy?”_

Callum chewed on his thumbnail as he watched Danny consider that, but even after taking a moment, Danny merely shrugged.

“I have no idea.” 

They could only wait as they listened to Jon rustle around and mutter to himself. Based on the absent looks on both Danny and Melanie’s faces, they were each thinking hard. Callum didn’t know what to think at all. 

_“Found it!”_

Jon’s shout of triumph shook them all out of their own heads. In moments, he returned from around the corner of one shelf with a folder clutching in his hand so tightly it formed a crease. “This statement, it—”

Before he could say more than three words, the archives door flew open. Basira filled the door frame as she strode in, tense from top to bottom. Tim followed on her heels. His face was hard. 

“Tim, Basira, what are—” Eyes round, Jon stared at them both. “What, um… What?”

Melanie sat upright. “Where have you guys _been?”_

“Went to the prison.” Basira’s voice was clipped. “To wring Elias’ neck until he gave me some answers.” 

“That… took this long?” Danny asked. 

Tim shook his head. “Thought we should probably make sure neither of us would up and snap his neck before going to chat.”

“Fair.”

“Did you get anything out of Elias?” Jon prodded with no mind to the side conversation. 

A grim, angry smile flashed on Basira’s face before she went stony again. “More than usual. The bell guy’s _old._ Early 1600’s, old. He was a pirate, too. Liked sailing around the Arctic. He was hanged for it, but clearly it didn’t stick. Guess what his name is?”

Silence made the air hum until Jon cut it with a soft, “What?”

Underneath her freezing cold exterior, Basira was livid. “Jan Mendaus.”

Callum’s head went empty. It didn’t make sense. Jan was weird, and old, but he wasn’t _evil._ Right? He’d offered to help find something _instead of_ the Dark for Callum to pursue, which was exactly what the rest here wanted. It didn’t make _sense._

But he’d also seen that familiar red scarf as Daisy shuddered and choked on the pavement. 

It didn’t make sense. Callum didn’t want it to make sense. 

“You— You visit Elias?” 

Basira pierced Jon with a glare. “Is that _really_ the point right now?”

“No, I just— It surprised me, is all.” 

“Well, there you go: I visit Elias for intel. Normally he doesn’t tell me anything direct, but I think he didn’t like that Mendaus fucked up his library.” A pause. “He always used to call me Detective, but… this time he said it wasn’t _correct_ anymore. Whatever that means.” Fatigue showed through as she rubbed her eyes with one hand, then shook it off in favor of that same hard, driven focus. “That old, he’s got to be an avatar of some sort.” 

“No question,” Jon agreed. “…Hunt, maybe? With his pursuit of you, I mean.”

Tim looked thoughtful. “Could be Vast, with the ocean stuff.”

As the others went back and forth, Danny pushed his chair closer to Callum’s desk. “We’re not gonna let anything happen to you, alright? I don’t think you can get much better in the way of bodyguards than three supernatural folks and two of the most stubborn women on earth.” 

Callum nodded slowly, but he wasn’t paying much attention. _1600’s, old._ Arctic pirate, hanged, still alive. It was like he was staring at puzzle pieces that he knew fit together, but he couldn’t make himself find the corner pieces, much less finish the thing. 

“—Lukas does his whole Lonely thing on his boat.”

“I don’t think things as innocuous as _boats_ can be used to determine what entity he serves. Those things are just _tools,_ not the whole of the power”

“Look, does it even _matter?”_ Melanie went back to picking at her nails. “At the end of the day, it doesn’t change what he’s doing.”

“But it could give us _direction,”_ Jon argued. “I think— This statement, I think it may offer some guidance.”

Melanie looked doubtful, but she gestured for him to go on. Jon flipped through the pages.

“I’ll record it later today, but this one, it discusses a man who introduced himself to the statement giver as _Captain._ He was rather large, they said, wearing a red scarf.” More page-turning. “And later, the statement giver saw him, um…” Jon’s eyes flicked back and forth. “…smoking a cigar as he watched ice close over—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but…” 

All of them turned to see Rosie in the doorway. She had no smile to lose, this time. Her hands wrung together.

“Callum, your— your parents are here to pick you up.”

Cold washed down his limbs and up his throat. He felt locked in his chair. Despite that, despite how numb he felt, he got to his feet. The room went silent, broken only by the shifting of paper as he mechanically tucked his things into his backpack.

Danny reached out to hold one strap of Callum’s bag so he could more easily tug it onto his shoulders. “I’ll walk you up there, yeah? We need to update them on stuff with Jan anyway, so they know to keep an eye out.”

Callum didn’t say a word. Most days, he gave at least a cursory wave to whoever might be in the archives when he left. Not today. Today, he barely managed to make himself walk to the door. 

For as much as Danny was pretending that it was good Callum’s parents were here so he could share the new information, it was clearly just that: pretending. Silence followed them into the hallway and up the stairs, and something so cold it burned twisted his stomach into knots.

Callum’s mother was barely noticeable where she hovered near one of the chairs off to the side, just as drawn and pale as she’d been in the headmaster’s office. His stepfather’s anger filled too much of the room for her to do anything but keep still. 

Danny’s steps didn’t falter as he crossed the lobby to meet them. Callum drifted along behind. He held out one hand to Callum’s stepfather with a smile that was just a little too wide to look natural, and his eyes were sharp as needles. Despite that, he sounded plenty casual as he said, “Good to meet you, Mr. Brodie. My name’s Danny Stoker.”

His stepfather didn’t meet him, just looked Danny up and down with a curled lip. He was shorter than Danny, of course, but not by very much. “Callum, come here.” 

Callum trudged to stop at his side. His eyes stayed stuck to the floor. 

When the moment dragged into awkward emptiness, Danny dropped his hand. “…Right. While you’re here, you should both know to keep an eye out — there’s someone who’s been showing up every so often that we’re trying to track. He’s interested in Callum. We don’t know why, but whatever reason it is, it’s not good. You should—”

“You’re right.” Callum’s stepfather interrupted. “I’m looking at him.”

Danny’s head jerked back like he’d just gotten smacked. _“Excuse_ me?”

Callum’s mother tiptoed forward. “Dennis, I— It’s not like that, I told you that I met the people here, and—”

“Why’d you keep a secret then, huh?” His stepfather gestured sharply at Danny. “You want me to believe _no one_ here is suspicious after you snuck around behind my back for—”

A familiar anger ignited in Callum, the same as when Jon had pulled him into his office and asked what Callum might know about some new _troupe._ Around the shards of broken glass in his lungs, he spat, “That’s _wrong.”_ No amount of warning on his mother’s face could put this out.

“Shut up, Callum.” His stepfather shifted back to Danny. “Now, I don’t know where you get off thinking you can—”

“No, _you_ shut up! He’s good, _everyone’s_ good, and—” 

Any other day, any other time, any other reason, the matching fire in his stepfather’s eyes would be enough to silence him. _“Callum.”_ Back to Danny. Adults talking to adults, locking the kids out, always. “Whatever this is, it’s _finished._ You—”

“You can’t, _you can’t,_ you—”

“Callum, stop.” Danny, this time. His warning matched Callum’s mother’s. It did nothing, not for Callum’s fire nor his stepfather’s. 

“I _can_ and _will.”_ Stone. Teeth bared in threat. Callum didn’t care. He dug his own teeth into his anger like a pit bull even as his voice cracked.

“No, _no,_ you can’t— it’s— it’s good, they’re _good,_ he—” 

“Shut _up,_ Callum!” His stepfather’s hand drew back, and Callum went stiff, eyes screwed up and every muscle so rigid it hurt. 

Skin collided with skin, but Callum didn’t feel a thing. His eyes cracked open, still tense and expectant. 

A brown hand was wrapped around his father’s wrist, tight enough Callum swore he could hear bones creak beneath. Even when his stepfather tried to wrench himself free, that grip didn’t so much as shift. 

“You would be _wise_ to not try that again. Ever.” Danny’s voice was as clean and cold as a surgical scalpel. His smile made Callum shudder, and he could only imagine what being hit with the full force of it must be like. 

Hatred so intense it made him dizzy struck. Danny stopped his stepfather from hitting him, but he told Callum to _stop arguing,_ he was going to just _let_ his parents take him and never come back, not ever, so why did Danny _care_ if his stepfather hit him, it didn’t make sense, it _didn’t,_ and Callum didn’t realize he was running until his feet were pouding up the stairs and he was gone. 

Up the stairs, up and up, right, through the door, between shelves and inside with the next door shut behind him. 

The library closet. It was dark in here. Not Dark, dark. Not yet. Maybe it could be. Maybe this wouldn’t hurt so much if Callum made it so there was nothing he could return to even if he tried. Maybe it would make sense then.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, curled up and surrounded by nothing scarier than cleaning supplies. How long would it take before they all gave up? He could wait it out until they forgot he was here and he could slip away with no one the wiser. 

His stepfather never did forget him when he was shut in the closet at home, though, no matter how much Callum thought he might.

He waited. 

No noise from the library. 

He waited.

No noise from inside the closet, either — no breathing but his own.

He waited. 

Footsteps approached, and passed, and still Callum waited. Part of him wished he could make himself cry and get it over with before anyone had to see. 

Footsteps, again, then a soft knock.

“Callum?”

He didn’t say a word. After a moment of waiting, the door opened.

“Callum?” Danny repeated. “Hey.” 

Still nothing except a glare.

“Juno said he saw you come in here.”

Glare.

“What are you thinking?”

Rich question from him. Callum pushed himself to unsteady feet. 

“You promised.” When Danny didn’t say anything, Callum kept on around another awful break in his voice. “With big stuff and small stuff. You _promised.”_

They were going to do better, Danny said. Make sure Callum was safe, he said. 

Still, he didn’t reply. It only made Callum’s fury swell, and he exploded forward and crashed into Danny, fists colliding with his chest. He didn’t know what he was saying beyond a loop of thickly choked, “You _promised,”_ over and over until he couldn't breathe past the knot in his throat.

“—You promised, I hate you, I _hate you,_ you _promised—”_

Danny took every blow without a sound, and when Callum’s fire turned to smoke, when his hits slowed until his face was buried against Danny’s chest, when his shouting turned to nothing but sobs, he only wrapped his arms tight around Callum in return. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Callum clung tighter. He didn’t think he’d ever hated anyone more. 

* * *

Laying in the dark, Callum watched the outline of his bedroom door, and he hated. 

_His_ could be cold and relentless. Following for forever. Never tired, never hungry. He just needed to focus. 

He hated the way Rosie had stood at her desk with her eyes bouncing between all of them. He hated the tin of Simpkins she bought just for him still in her hand. 

Eyes, it didn’t like, Callum knew that much. Still, it could find anything, anywhere. Long, sawblade claws, too. None of the pieces were sticking in his head, but stubbornness kept him trying anyway. 

He hated how Basira had come after them, and how, when Danny had walked him back down to the lobby like an executioner, it was clear that she was the only reason Callum’s stepfather hadn’t followed his flight. He hated the wall she made with her body and complete, firm resolve. 

Furry, maybe, but sleek. Like the one with the mane. A lashing tail like a manticore, with all the spines at the end. Had he decided anything about its teeth? Why wasn’t his head _cooperating?_ He needed _his,_ he did. His thumb pressed hard into the mark on his opposite palm. 

He hated Melanie for reading him maths problems, and he hated Jon for suggesting things be read to him in the first place. He hated Daisy for dying, and he hated Tim for being a walking reminder of death, and he hated, hated, _hated_ Danny. 

Trying to hold all the bits in his head together wasn’t working. He needed help.

“Mr. Pitch?” The words were soft. Couldn’t give away that he was still awake. “Are you there?”

Silence. Callum hated that, too.

* * *

He stopped doing his homework. Laid awake all night, every night, trying as hard as he could to pull _his_ from the nothing, even when he had no outlined door to frame it in. Sleeping in class kept him on his feet. 

Still, he was tired. Being tired made him irritable, and being irritable made him mean, and being mean made his friends go from asking what was wrong to asking what his problem was. 

At least Tristan stayed away from them. They only had to deal with one bad kid at a time. 

His stepfather stayed away, too. Shouted like normal, sent Callum to his room plenty. Nothing else. Every time it looked like he was about to lash out, he went all stiff, then shut down the argument. Usually left the room. With how absent his mother was, at work or shut up in her bedroom or sitting as still as possible with her hands folded in her lap, it just meant that no one touched Callum at all these days. 

He started wondering how much a bus to Dover cost, and if stealing the funds from his stepfather’s wallet or mother’s purse to pay for one would be worth the consequences. He’d already lost the Institute, and his bike, and was well on his way to losing his friends. What else could his stepfather even take? Who _cared?_

Not Callum. Callum didn’t care about anything. 

He went to school. He went to detention. He went home. He spent the weekend wandering the city, as far from Chelsea as he could get. Chelsea was where folks with money went. Callum should have known better than to think he fit there from the start. He was the poor kid, the kid with the secondhand backpack and charity clothes, the kid who repaired his things himself until they were more duct tape than anything before ever asking for a replacement. He didn’t belong there. Newham’s most narrow streets were where he fit best. 

The puddles of rain were far closer to gritty mud by the time they seeped in through the holes in his trainers. He couldn’t bring himself to care about that, either. 

Day by day. Day by day by day and Callum didn’t know what he was waiting for except to know that this wasn’t it.

When the call from the front office came in the middle of a history lesson, he assumed it was one of his mother’s scared days made worse by everything from the past week. It would make sense. Aminah whispered that she would share her notes with him tomorrow, and he didn’t thank her for it. 

His mother’s face wasn’t scared. It wasn’t that same overbearing hysteria that made her all jittery and paranoid. He didn’t know how to describe her expression beyond the clear tears in her eyes. 

Once he was in arms’ reach, she extended a hand for him to take. He didn’t. 

Throughout the whole trip home, she didn’t say anything. She gave no answer when he asked why she pulled him from class, and he knew better than to try again. When tears slipped free down her face, it didn’t seem like she even noticed. 

Dread made an ugly blend with all the anger and tiredness that never faded these days. There was nothing Callum could do about any of it but wait. 

When they reached home, the dense silence around the pair of them made the front door’s click shut sound as loud as a gunshot. His mother at last realized she was crying and did her best to wipe her face, then smiled thinly at Callum. Maybe she thought it was comforting.

“Let’s… Let’s sit.” 

He didn’t make a sound as he followed her to the couch. If his stepfather was home, no doubt he would have something to say about how Callum’s fingers immediately settled to pick at one of the threadbare holes in the upholstery, but it was just the two of them. Maybe his mother thought that was comforting, too. 

She cleared her throat. “…I want you to know that I love you very much, okay? And— And however hard this is, we’ll be okay. I’m here for whatever you need.”

“Okay,” Callum said warily. She had her _trying to be strong_ face on, the one that always made her look even more brittle for how forced it was. 

“I… I got a call earlier. About gran.”

Something shot through the cloud of angry numbness that stuffed in his head like cotton. He didn’t voice it. 

“She, um… She went to visit the lighthouse, like usual.” His mother’s tears started again, and Callum could feel dread compound on itself until it was crushing him into the worn red fabric under his fingers. “And while she was there, she— she slipped.” 

Maybe she was hurt. Maybe they would have to go visit. Maybe, maybe, they’d have to take her away from the lighthouse after all. Even thinking it felt cruel. 

“And you know how cold the water can be this time of year.” Every word was more wounded than the last. “When she fell into it, she… They think she couldn’t swim, because of the shock.” 

Callum stared at his mother, waiting for her to say things like _rescued_ and _fractures_ and _the hospital._ Surely that would be what came next. It had to. 

His mother tried to go on, but her voice broke before she could say a single word. After a moment to compose herself, she finished with the cruelest lie possible.

“She didn’t make it, Callum.”

It didn’t make sense. Callum was _just_ at her house, not even a full week ago. He _just_ went with her to the lighthouse, and she biked there and back every time without a sign of fatigue. She was strong. It didn’t make _sense._

“Gran’s dead.” The words should have come incredulously. Disbelieving. They should have been an argument, because his mother was wrong, she had to be, she was. His gran was fine. Nothing could hurt her, especially nothing as stupid as a slip. 

When his mother only nodded with fresh tears on her face, Callum decided he hated her too. Still, he didn’t fight when she reached over and pulled him into a hug as if she thought he needed it. Maybe she was just trying to comfort herself.

“I’m sorry, angel, I’m so sorry…” Her hand moved in sweeps up and down his back as she rocked him. His own arms didn’t move to return the embrace. His eyes didn’t close. He stared into space over her shoulder and wondered what he was supposed to feel beyond a _nothing_ so wide and deep it hurt. 

He knew there wasn’t anything else his _stepfather_ could take. Life didn’t play by the same rules. It could take whatever it wanted, and there was nothing at all he could do.

It wasn’t fair.

Eventually, his mother murmured that she would call into school so he could stay home tomorrow, he was having a rough time these days, he needed the break, all snowballing stock phrases and comforts that meant nothing. 

Callum wanted a hug. Not from her. Hers were too wrong to do anything but remind him of how much he wanted a hug that smelled like sea salt and cats, or one from just slightly too-long arms with a just slightly too-wide smile after. 

All gone, now. One more ghost for the lighthouse. One less body for the archives. 

The next time his mother tried to hug him, he pushed her away. He shut himself in his room before he could see how hurt she was. Her own mother had just died, out of nowhere, and still he couldn’t stand her embrace for any longer than a second. 

Without school the next day, Callum slept. He slept in late, and took a long nap barely an hour later. By the time he finally dragged himself out of bed, the street outside his window was dark.

The blaring telly didn’t register as anything but white noise as he stumbled off to the kitchen. He was hungry, probably. Somewhere in him. 

A package sitting on the kitchen table stopped him in his tracks. There was no way. No, the universe didn’t hate him _that_ much. It couldn’t. 

Careful hands set on his shoulders from behind nearly made him jump out of his skin. His mother looked more tired than ever, and her eyes were puffy. Callum wondered if she ever stopped crying in the past twenty-four hours.

“I think gran’s first move as an angel was to make sure you got your birthday present.” How she could possibly think that was comforting, Callum didn’t know. Maybe it was the part of her that still hoped he might start going to church with her again one day. 

It wasn’t until he reached the table that Callum realized he was walking forward. His hands didn’t shake when he tugged the box closer. Should they? Should he be all weepy and sorrowful like his mother? Even as he scrabbled at the tape, he felt only cold static ringing in his head. 

Pale hands reached into view, and he jerked back with a snapped, “I’ve _got_ it.” The startle and immediate guilt on her face made him almost regret it. 

Eventually, his nails caught. A strip of cardboard trailed behind the tape as he dragged it free. Inside was another package, this one smaller and neatly wrapped with soft blue paper patterned with race cars and other stupid, childish stuff. In a single motion he tore it away and let it drift to the floor in scraps. The top of a white cardstock box followed after. 

Tucked in a nest of tissue paper were mittens — dark grey, with little blue accents. Crochet. Handmade, no question. Something in Callum’s chest wound tighter and tighter and tighter until there was no room for air. 

“She knew you kept losing your gloves.” His mother's voice came from a million miles away. “So she thought she should replace them early, so you’re ready for the cold this next winter.” 

Callum hated the cold. Hated it. Hated it, _hated_ it, and he hated these mittens and he hated his gran and he hated that she sent these to him and he hated the note tucked beneath with her handwriting screaming out what would no doubt be love and well-wishes and useless, pointless things that could never, ever matter when she was dead and gone and Callum had _nothing._

It wasn’t fucking _fair._

When his fingers started to dig into the seam between the thumb and the rest of the thing on one mitten, Callum didn’t know. He didn’t know when they sank in between stitches. He didn’t know when he started shouting. He didn’t know when he started to tear. 

His mother was shouting too, trying to pull the last thing his grandmother would ever make him from his clenched hands, but her yanking only meant he had that much more leverage with which to pull them to useless, pointless, worthless tatters. 

That was the funny thing about destruction: it never took long, did it? Far faster to kick something apart than to put it together. Callum didn’t know how crochet worked, but he knew that it must have taken far longer to make these than the few moments of rage it did to reduce them to nothing. There was an awful joy in it — he couldn’t have them, _no one_ could have them, and Callum didn’t know when his tears started but he knew they burned like acid. 

_“—Stop,_ Callum, stop, _stop—”_

There wasn’t any fixing them, now. Not any of them. They were too broken. 

Hands like vices around his shoulders and hard, frantic shaking only made the whirlwind in his head spin that much faster.

_“—wrong_ with you?! _Why_ did— Why—”

His mother held her own hurricane. Callum had always assumed his anger came from his father’s side, but if his mother hadn’t been born with her own, she must have learned it along the way. Her voice sounded shredded as shook him again and begged for some sort of answer. 

Bad kids didn’t need a reason. How could she not understand that by now? When had Callum _ever_ given a reason for the things he did? When was he ever, ever fair?

A new grip pulled him away from his mother. Clutching him must have been the only thing keeping her upright, and she crumbled like a lighthouse into the sea. All her efforts to claw every scrap of yarn together sent them through her shaking fingers and back to the floor.

His stepfather was shouting at him now, and Callum didn’t hear a word. His hands pressed hard to his ears as he screamed, “I don’t know, I don’t _know!”_

If lunging at Tristan and Danny were explosions, this was nuclear. He fought and kicked until fingers digging into his arms were forced to unclench. As soon as he was free, he dashed to his room. 

Light smacked on. Backpack slung over his shoulder. Tape over the latch ripped free.

Callum ran into the night, and slammed his bedroom window shut behind him. He wasn’t coming back. 

He understood what Jan meant by _kindred spirits_ now: someone who destroyed. Someone made of fire, who ate and ate and ate and gave nothing but ashes. There was no thought but complete, absolute certainty about where he belonged that sent his pounding feet towards the station to the Docklands. 

Everything that happened to Basira was because of Callum, wasn’t it? Jan wanted Callum to travel with him because they were the same. They were both people who hurt people. Callum only ever hurt his mother and no one at the Institute would have gotten hurt like this if he never went there in the first place and he didn’t do anything but hurt his friends. Callum was made of shadows and barbed wire and shards of ice, and the only one who understood was made of the same.

When the windstorm in his head started to fade, it didn’t take his certainty. He knew what he was doing. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he wasn’t scared. 

Still, it didn’t mean he was free of asking some attendant at the station which way it was to the hotel Jan mentioned. He ran off before they could ask why he was alone. 

The hotel was hard to miss — big, right on the riverbank. The sort Callum’s family could never afford. Didn’t matter, now. 

Inside matched, both in size and in the money filling every crack of this place. He shuffled where he stood as the doors slid shut behind him, more conscious than ever of his worn clothes. After a moment to hesitate, he crossed to the front desk and cleared his throat. 

The woman looked up with a bright smile. “How can I help you?”

“Um… Can you— Can you tell me which room is, um…” Basira had said his last name, right? “Jan Mendaus?”

Her brows knit. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but he just finished checking out.” 

Jan had said a week. This was the last day of that week, and still Callum hadn’t even considered that Jan might have already left. 

“Oh.”

“Would you… like me to call you a cab, maybe? Or do you need to use the phone?” 

“No. It’s fine.” Numb. Before she could say another word, Callum was gone. 

Another night of wandering, then. Find some bench to sleep on. He could decide what to do next when the sun came up. Maybe… Maybe he could get on the train and see how far it would take him. Maybe he could fake being sixteen and get a job — it didn’t matter if they knew he was lying as long as they didn’t care enough to argue it. Maybe he never had to go home again. Never, ever. 

He was barely into his slapdash planning when he saw it — that same red scarf on the other side of the car park. Relief struck as he bolted forwards as fast as he could. 

“Jan! _Jan!”_

When Jan turned, surprise broke out across his face. “Callum? What are you doing here?”

Callum skidded to a stop. It was a second before he could speak past heavy breathing, but Jan was patient. 

“I changed my mind.”

New surprise, clearly a pleased sort. “You did?”

“Uh-huh.” 

“The parameters haven’t changed,” Jan cautioned. “You’ll be forging a new road, and that means leaving the old one behind.”

_“Good.”_ When the immediate reply pulled a bit of a smile from Jan, Callum let himself feel some victory. “Let’s go. Now.” 

“Of course.” Jan adjusted the straps of his own pack as he returned to his path. “The port isn’t too far from here. Do you mind the walk?”

“No. I walk a lot.” 

“Glad to hear it. We're off, then.” 

Jan wasn’t in a chatty mood. Callum had no problem with that, not when he didn’t feel too chatty, either. There were no quiet nights in London, but they didn’t add to the clamor. 

“Is there anything else you need to take care of before we leave?”

“S’all taken care of.”

“And how did you get those at the Institute to lengthen the leash? I was under the impression they were far from my biggest fans.”

Callum didn’t answer beyond a shrug, and Jan looked sympathetic. 

“I see. I know I spoke lightly of them driving you off the last time we met, but I’m sure it isn’t easy for you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You can let yourself feel that loss.” Jan’s voice was warm compared to the cold air under the bridge they passed beneath. “It’s alright.” 

He didn’t lose anything except people he hated. It didn’t matter. It didn’t. 

Callum had almost succeeded at shoving the Institute and all the people there out of his head when a new voice calling his name sent him reeling. 

“Callum! Callum, hey!” 

Of all people, Jamal was the last person Callum expected to see anywhere near here. His school friends weren’t supposed to get mixed up in this. They were barely his friends now with the way he treated them, but _still._

Jan looked unbothered. “Oh, hello. Friend of yours, Callum?”

“What are you doing here?” he asked Jamal without answering. 

Jamal blinked, one hand fidgeting with his stuffed frog. “Oh, um. My dad works at the Regatta Centre, so we came by to get him and go out for dinner, but then I saw you and I wanted to say hi.” His eyes bounced between Callum and Jan. “So. Hi! Um. Who are you?” 

“A family friend,” Jan said smoothly. Callum added one more secret and lie to the pile. Jamal didn’t need to get involved, not when it was minutes away from ceasing to matter. “You’re a friend of Callum’s, then?”

No hesitation in the responding nod, and Callum hated that too. 

“Lovely to meet you. Actually…” Jan patted his pockets, then pulled out a slip of paper. Folded, but in a moment of cold certainty, Callum knew what he would find if he opened it. “I was going to deliver this myself, but we’re both rather eager to be off. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah,” Callum said. Flat. Jamal wouldn’t notice.

“So, if I give you a note, can I trust that you’ll deliver it to the proper hands? It’s part of a game between a good friend and I.” 

Jamal looked surprised, but he nodded. The smile growing on his face showed off every rainbow band in his braces. “I like games. Who’s it going to?”

“Are you familiar with the Magnus Institute, Jamal?”

“Yeah! We went there one time to find a ghost or something, but then I found a toad.”

“Wonderful. There isn’t any rush, but if you could deliver that there within the next few days, I would appreciate it.” 

“Okay!” Jamal took the note. An impulse to snatch it from his hand shot through Callum, but his arms kept stuck to his sides. He didn’t know why — it wasn’t like he’d hesitated to destroy anything else over the past few days. 

Before he could give in to that impulse, a distant figure called Jamal’s name, and he turned to wave at them. “My mum’s calling, so I gotta go, but I’ll deliver it! I don’t want to mess up the game.”

“It’s very appreciated.”

“Bye, Jamal.” Mumbled. Final.

“See you at school tomorrow! Unless you’re gone then, too. Then— See you when I see you!” Another wave, and Callum and Jan were alone. 

With a satisfied nod, Jan returned to their trek as if nothing happened at all. Callum didn’t know how he felt. The itch to leave remained, he knew that much, and so he followed without a word.

“A lucky coincidence, eh?” Jan remarked. “I was worried I might have to send one with an order of cupcakes, or some other nonsense.”

“Uh-huh.” The agreement came without any true thought, not with Callum’s head so occupied. Each step carried him further from the life he knew, and still he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. 

A blank slate, just like Callum told his grandmother. He wasn’t stupid enough to think this was what she meant.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs:  
> in the skippable scene: abuse by way of corporeal punishment (callum is hit twice) and taking things, mentioned marital abuse  
> otherwise: character death, very brief fatphobia and ableism (the r slur is nearly used - not by callum - but is interrupted), bullying, parental abuse (callum is almost hit again later on, but it's prevented), minor dissociation, jan being the way he is 
> 
> at last you all finally see why i pulled a jonny and had a character with the same name as another one. also did you guys know that researching arctic pirates from the early 1600s is a pain in the ass? i thought you all should know
> 
> if you need some healing All This [[here's some meme shit i made a while ago that i forgot to link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=In7_mjoB1BQ&t=1s)]
> 
> on the horizon: the captain and his stowaway begin a new voyage


End file.
